whoever recommended âsincerely notâ by @saintobio saying its a wholesome fic thats happy. count ur mf days. i feel like ive emptied all the tears in my body, im going to be mourning over this for the rest of my life. no other ff is comparable to it. it felt like my heart was ripped out every chapter, something would happen and the relationship would move backwords. ESP THE LAST CHAPTER I WAS RUINED. I spent 20 minutes trying to see if this was rlly the end. ( insaw the word âfinaleâ and still searched i was grieving)
when i saw y/n got married to toji i was happy but it was more of a bitter happy. my heart feels emptyđ𼲠i think i js lost myself and will defin go insane. where is the wholesome fanfic i was promisedđ this made me spiral uncontrollably, in circles and leaked litres of tears. i feel like ive js lost a piece of myself reading that. i cant go sleep bc of it, im mourning over a fanfictionâšď¸đ and idec.
im so upset theres no other ways of describijg this feeling. my soul is upset and so is everything in me.
edit- i think i js found oart two of it âsicnerely yoursâ im was so flipping stupid but my feelings were validđĽ˛â
wdit pt2- sorru im stupid i didnt clarify but ik toji n her arent married as of so far that ice read up to, the marriage was on hold ig rn but anyways live love shoko frđ
this gon be the bedtime story for the next nightđŤ
idk if this isba spoiler oh yh edit htw but i hate akemi idk, its goving sera all over again and i cant w itđĽ˛đ
update
i act like sera idl akemi idk who the bd isđ and i hope everything ends up good bc no one is w no one and we r freeđĽ˛đ
hi loveee i just saw this now, but thank you sm for reading !! ur reaction gives me so much nostalgia of post-sn/early sy 𼚠now that youâre onto sy, you might find the sequel a little out of place and sounding ârushedâ at times, my apologies! itâs bcos of the gap in-between postings + lack of inspo + my busy irl sched, but reading through ur commentaries made my day! iâm glad u enjoyed reading :â) sending love ur way !!
anyways i love ur ff ur amazingđđ my 3 am rant was so badly written but it delivered the messageđ dw take ur time liek ik the next chapter gon be good asf and im gonna absorb in every emotion in from itđđđ
Synopsis: As a lounge singer, you see many captivating faces in the crowd, but none are as captivating as the man with the green eyes. He always watches from the far back, making your knees weak
But what happens when he finds you after the curtains close?
Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, strangers to lovers, vampire!eren, vampire bites are an aphrodisiac, mutual pining, scent kink, blood kink, blood sucking from neck, implied masturbation, oral fingering, handjob, Exhibitionism, spit, Dacryphilia.
Word count: 12,483!
The air in the lounge was warm tonight, smelling of spilled gin, expensive perfume, and the ever-present cloud of cigarette smoke that hung just below the gilded ceiling. It was just part of the scenery, like the worn velvet of the booths or the soft gleam of the brass foot-rail along the bar.
Low light from frosted glass sconces cast long, shifting shadows across the room, accompanied by the murmur of conversations. At a corner table, a group of men in tailored suits argued over a poker hand. Near the stage, a woman in a feathered headband laughed with her friends.
It was another Friday night at The Pixis Palladium, full of the same kind of people with the same kind of wants.
A drink, a game, a distraction.
You stood in the narrow space behind the crimson stage curtain, your right foot tapping on the dusty floorboards. You could hear the band finishing their last instrumental number. The number even had a few couples up and swaying. You took a slow breath. You were adorned in a deep red number with a drop waist and delicate beading that caught what little light there was back here. Your fingers went to your hair just to check.
It was pinned up in careful waves, a few artful curls escaping to frame your face. The makeup girl, Sadie, had done her usual magic, giving you a cupidâs bow lip and smoky eyes that made you look enchanting.
âFive seconds, doll,â a stagehand whispered. You nodded.
The music faded. The master of ceremonies, a portly man named Arthur with a booming voice, stepped into the spotlightâs white circle.
âAnd now, the voice that turns our whiskey to honey, the lady who makes our hearts beat a little faster⌠give a warm welcome to our own songbird!â
The applause was polite, punctuated by a few whistles from the usual hecklers near the front. You smoothed your hands down your dress. A smile, one youâd practiced a thousand times in the mirror, one that didnât quite reach your eyes, settled on your face. You pushed through the heavy curtain.
The light was as blinding at first but after you blinked just a few times, you could see better. You smiled as you walked to the center of the stage, your low heels clicking softly. You lifted a hand in a small wave, your eyes scanning the crowd as they always did, taking in the blurred faces in the dark beyond the stage lights.
"Sing for us dollface!"
"Come on pretty lady!"
Out of all the mens voices and whistles, your eyes immediately looked up and just a few seats back.
And then you found him. Like you always did now.
He was seated at a small round table for two near the back, far from the busiest part of the room. But the shadows didnât seem to cling to him. His silhouette was as clear as the bright moon in the sky. He sat with one arm draped over the back of the empty chair beside him.
In his other hand, he held a glass of something dark. Whiskey, you guessed. His hair was dark and brushed back from a strong, handsome face. But it was his eyes you always found first.
Green as fresh spring grass, as emeralds pulled from the earth. They stared at you from a table midway back, positioned perfectly in your line of sight.
Your smile faltered for just a heartbeat before you locked it back in place.
There you are.
The man with the green eyes. Heâd been coming for months. At first, youâd noticed him because he was so still. Everyone else fidgeted, talked, drank, laughed. He just watched. And he watched you. It wasnât a leer, not like some of the men who came to see the âgirl singer.â It was just so focused that it managed to make your skin prickle every single time.
You turned slightly to nod at the bandleader, Mr. Hoover. He gave a little nod back, his fingers poised over the piano keys. You turned back to the audience, finding those green eyes again. You let your gaze rest there for a second longer than you would with anyone else.
His eyes were just so hauntingly captivating.
A corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction.
You opened your mouth, and the first notes of âAinât Misbehavinââ came out. The band slid in perfectly behind you. You let the music take over, swaying gently with the beat, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the microphone stand. You performed the song, hitting the notes, putting in the little shrugs and winks the audience expected. "I'm saving my love for you."
More whistles and dog shouts erupted from the crowd.
Your eyes roamed the crowd, making brief contact with a smiling couple here, a nodding older gentleman there. But your attention, like a compass needle, kept swinging back to the back table.
He hadnât moved. He brought the glass to his lips and took a slow sip. His eyes never left yours. Not when a man at a nearby table let out a loud guffaw at a joke. Not when a waitress passed right in front of his table, blocking his view for a moment. His gaze was a fixed point. You feltlikeas if he was touching you.
It was unnerving.
It was exhilarating.
It made you put a little more ache into the song. As you sang your eyes met his, and for a wild second, you felt like you were singing the words directly to him. Seemed as if you were.
During a particularly soft bridge, you saw him take another drink. This time, a drop of the dark liquid escaped the rim of the glass and traced a path down his lower lip, over the faintest shadow of stubble on his chin. He didnât seem to notice at first, his eyes still locked on you. Then, with a slow, agonizing movement, he lifted his thumb and wiped the droplet away. His eyes finally broke from yours, glancing down at his thumb. He brought it to his mouth and sucked the whiskey off it, his gaze sliding back up to meet yours as he did so.
The action was mundane, but something about the way he did it, almost made you gasp, but you were a professional.
The rest of your set passed in a blur of melody, cheers, and hoots. You finished with an upbeat number, âI Canât Give You Anything But Love,â blowing a kiss to the audience as the applause swelled. You gave a final bow, your eyes sweeping the room one last time. He was clapping, slowly, three times. Just three. Then he set his glass down, before licking his lips.
You retreated behind the curtain, the cacophony of the lounge muffling as you heard Aruther walk up to speak again. Your heart was beating a little too fast.
âKnocked âem dead again, honey,â Sadie said, passing you with an armful of costume hangers. She winked. âEspecially that tall drink of water in the back. I saw him looking. Hell, everyone saw him looking.â
You managed a laugh, but it sounded breathy. âHeâs just a regular.â
âSome regular,â she said, her voice dropping. âKinda gives me the creeps, but damn if he isnât pretty to look at.â
You didnât answer, just made your way to the small, cluttered dressing room you shared with two other girls. You sat at your mirror, staring at your own reflection. The slightly smudged eyeliner, the red lipstick still intact. You unclipped your hair, letting the waves fall around your shoulders with a sigh.
The night came to an end as it always does. Sounds if the men stacking chairs, cleaning glasses, and the band packing up their instruments. You changed out of the beaded dress, hanging it carefully, and pulled on your own clothes as the other women, Historia and Pieck left the dressing room with sweet goodbyes. "See you all next time."
You slipped into your simple white-colored blouse, a black skirt, and stockings. Finally, you shrugged into your maroon coat. The collar and cuffs lined with soft, creamy fox fur. Perfect for the cold.
You said your goodbyes, poking your head into various rooms. âNight, Arthur.â âSee you tomorrow, Jimmy.â You found Mr. Pixis in his cramped office, going over the nightâs receipts with his spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
âHeading out, my dear?â he asked, looking up. His eyes were always so kind. He made sure that everyone was treated with respect at his establishment, especially the women.
âYes, sir. Good night.â
âWalk quickly,â he advised, as he always did. âItâs a strange world out there after dark.â
You nodded, with a smile. âAlways do.â
Pushing open the heavy brass and glass door of the lounge, you were consumed by the chill of the night air. It was a clean, free of smoke and multiple types of perfume. The street was quiet, most of the legitimate businesses closed for the night. A single, sickly yellow streetlamp cast a weak circle of light on the damp pavement a few doors down. You turned left, starting the eight-block walk to your boarding house.
Your heels echoed on the sidewalk, as you pulled the fur collar tighter around your neck, your gloved hands buried in the pockets. You were used to this walk. Youâd done it a hundred times. But you never liked it. The shadows between buildings seemed too deep. Every alley mouth was a gaping black maw.
Dangerous it was.
About three blocks in, you heard it. A soft, shuffling sound from behind you, like a shoe scraping over grit.
You froze for a second, your ears straining. Nothing. You shook your head. Just a cat. Or your imagination. You started walking again, a little faster.
Shuffle-scrape.
It was closer this time. And it wasnât a cat. It was the sound of footsteps trying to be quiet and failing. Your heart jumped into your throat. You didnât want to turn around. Turning around meant seeing what was there. Your pace quickened to a near-jog. Your boarding house was still five blocks away.
Shuffle-scrape. Shuffle-scrape.
They were keeping pace. Matching your speed. The sound was directly behind you now. Panic lanced through you. You broke into a full run, your purse banging against your hip, your breath coming in ragged gasps that fogged in the cold air. You dared a glance over your shoulder, trying to see a shape in the dark.
A stalker from the lounge?
That killer that had been on the loose?
It could be anyone.
You didnât see the person in front of you until it was too late.
You slammed into a chest, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. You stumbled backward, sure you were about to hit the hard pavement.
Strong hands shot out and caught you by the shoulders, stopping your fall effortlessly. The grip was firm but not painful, the fingers long and surprisingly elegant-looking against the dark wool of your coat. You looked up, gasping for breath.
And you found yourself staring into those same piercing green eyes.
He was even more striking up close. The dim streetlamp caught the angles of his face. The beautiful line of his jaw, the straight slope of his nose, the dark sweep of his brows. His lips looked soft as silk and as pink as rose. His mouth was set in a concerned line.
He also smelled so good.
Deliciously so.
âAre you all right?â he asked. His voice was lower than youâd imagined it would be, but nonetheless captivating. His hands were still on your shoulders, holding you steady.
For a moment, you were speechless. You just stared at him, your mind trying to reconcile the man from the shadowy lounge with the man holding you up on a dark street.
âI⌠Iâm sorry, sirâ you finally stammered, your voice shaky. You took a step back, and his hands fell away, leaving your shoulders feeling strangely cold. âI wasnât looking where I was going. I heard⌠I thought someone was following me.â
His expression didnât change, but his eyes moved from your face. He looked past you, down the dark stretch of sidewalk youâd just run from. His gaze was just like how it was at the lounge, focused. It was a hunterâs look. He stared at a particular patch of deeper shadow between two brick buildings, his body perfectly still. He didnât blink. You watched him, clutching your purse to your chest, your own fear momentarily forgotten in the strangeness of his concentration.
After what felt like a full minute, he blinked once, slowly, and looked back down at you. His eyes softened, the intense scrutiny replaced by something more gentle.
âItâs too late for a woman to be out alone, missâ he said simply. His voice held no judgment or malice. He gestured down the street with a slight tilt of his head. âAre you headed far?â
You swallowed. âJust to Acacia Street. The boarding house there.â
âMay I accompany you?â he asked. He didnât smile, but the offer seemed genuine. He extended his arm slightly, not quite offering it to take, but presenting the option. âIt would put my mind at ease.â
Every warning youâd ever heard, every bit of common sense screamed at you. Donât go with strangers. Especially men you donât know. Especially men who stare at you for months and then appear out of nowhere on a dark street. But another part of you, a part exhausted by fear and still humming from the adrenaline of the chase, looked at him. Heâd caught you when you fell. He hadnât tried to grab you or hurt you. Heâd just⌠asked. And those eyes, now that they were on you again, held nothing but safety.
Your caution wrestled with your desire to not walk the last five blocks alone. The memory of the shuffling footsteps decided it.
âOkay,â you said. âThank you.â
You didnât take his arm. You fell into step beside him, leaving a careful foot of space between you. He nodded, understanding, and began to walk, matching his longer stride to yours. The silence was total, broken only by the synchronized sound of your footsteps. The air felt colder now. You were focused on the man beside you, of the way his shoulder occasionally brushed the sleeve of your coat.
He walked with a kind of liquid grace, his movements completely silent aside from the tap of his fine leather shoes on the pavement. You found yourself glancing at him sideways, studying his profile. He seemed utterly unbothered by the quiet.
And breathing beautiful in the moonlight.
After a few blocks, the tension in your shoulders began to ease. The footsteps were gone. The street seemed less menacing with him beside you.
âYou have an incredible voice,â he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice didnât startle you, it was actually the complete opposite. It was like smooth molasses filled your ears.
You looked at him, surprised. âThank you, sirâ
âHow does one acquire a voice like that?â he asked. He looked straight ahead as he spoke. âTraining? Or were you simply born with it?â
You shrugged, a little thrown by the question. âBorn with it, I guess. I sang in church as a kid. Never had lessons or anything.â You paused. âMy mom said I was singing before I was talking.â
He turned his head to look at you then, a soft smile touching his lips. âA beautiful gift,â he said. âTo bring such a sound into the world. Itâs a rare thing.â
The compliment was so direct, so unadorned, that you felt your body starting to heat up. You looked away, focusing on the cracks in the sidewalk. âItâs just a job.â
âItâs more than that,â he said quietly. âI can see it when you sing.â
You didnât know how to answer that. So you just kept walking.
Finally, you turned onto Acacia Street. Your boarding house was halfway down the block, a tall, narrow building with a faint light glowing in the front parlor window.
âThis is me,â you said, stopping at the bottom of the three stone steps leading to the front door.
He stopped beside you, turning to face you fully. The weak light from the parlor window barely reached him, outlining him in soft gold. âIâm glad youâre home safely miss,â he said.
You stood there for a moment, suddenly feeling awkward. You should just say goodnight and go inside. But you felt a pull, a need to acknowledge this bizarre yet intriguing encounter. You stuck out your hand for a handshake. âThank you, Mr⌠Iâm sorry, I donât know your name.â
He looked down at your gloved hand, then back up at your face. He didnât take your hand to shake it. Instead, he reached out and gently turned it over, so your palm faced downward. His touch through the soft leather of your glove was a faint. Without breaking eye contact, he bent at the waist. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to the back of your gloved hand.
It wasnât a dry peck. He held his lips there for a full two seconds. You could feel the softness of his mouth, the slight pressure. A shiver ran straight up your arm and into your core. You had to bite your lip from how tender it was. His lips were warm. They felt dangerous. They felt like sin.
His eyes met yours as he kissed your hand, his lips finally pulling back. He straightened up, but he didnât let go of your hand. He kept his fingers lightly around your wrist, his thumb resting on your pulse point. He looked up from the spot heâd kissed, his green eyes finding yours. They seemed to drink in the streetlight.
âEren,â he said, âYou may call me Eren, if youâd like.â
You couldnât move. You couldnât breathe. Your pulse was hammering under his thumb, and you knew he could feel it. The feeling of his mouth on your glove was better than any kiss you have had with a man.
âEren,â you repeated, the name felt perfect on your tongue. You managed a smile as you looked up at him through your lashes. âWhat a lovely name. I'm Y/n."
He returned the smile, a little wider this time, showing a glimpse of white teeth. He finally released your hand, and you let it fall to your side, as he locked his eyes on yours again. "Your name is...intoxicatingly beautiful."
This man was dangerous. That voice, the looks, the gaze. It was enough to have a woman throw their panties at him, no man has ever held your attention like this, and yet, you had to go inside.
âGoodnight,â you whispered.
He simply nodded, a single, graceful dip of his head. âGoodnight.â
You turned, fumbling in your purse for your key. Your fingers were trembling. You found it, fitted it into the lock, and pushed the heavy door open. You stepped into the foyer, your cat immediately coming to wrap its furry body around and inbetween your legs. You paused, your hand still on the door.
You had to look. You had to see if he was still there.
You turned around, leaning back out the door.
The bottom of the stone steps were empty. The sidewalk was clear. You scanned the street, left and right. Nothing. No retreating figure, no shadow moving away. He was just gone. As if heâd never been there at all. As if the whole walk, his hand on your shoulder, his lips on your gloved hand, had been a vivid dream conjured by the night air and your own fear.
You stood there in the doorway for a long minute, staring at the empty space where he had stood. The chill from outside was beginning to seek inside your home, causing your cat to run towards your living room area, but you didn'treally feel it. All you felt was the lingering warmth on the back of your hand, and the realization that the man with the green eyes was now a man with a name.
Eren.
You finally pushed the door closed. You leaned back against the wood, and clutched your chest. The night was over, but something, you knew with a certainty was that, this will not be the last time you see him.
The weeks that followed that first encounter passed in a blur of music, smoke, and those green eyes.
Eren became a regular fixture, not just at The Pixis Palladium, but in your life. He started showing up everywhere. At the corner store where you bought your weekly groceries, somehow appearing in the produce section just as you were selecting apples. Outside the boarding house on Sunday mornings when you left for your walk in the park. At the library where you sometimes spent your afternoons off, reading romance novels in the back corner.
It should have been unsettling. It should have sent every warning bell in your head ringing. But instead, you found yourself looking for him. Anticipating his arrival. Your heart would do this stupid little jump whenever you spotted that dark hair and those devastating eyes.
The conversations started small. A comment about the weather. A question about what you were reading. But they grew. You learned he had a taste for jazz, that heâd traveled extensively though he never quite specified where, that he had an opinion on everything from politics to poetry. He was educated, well-spoken, and had this way of listening to you that made you feel like every word you said mattered.
And god, could he talk. His voice alone was enough to make your thighs clench together. But the things he said, the way he said them, always walking this razorâs edge between proper and provocative. Heâd compliment the curve of your neck and make it sound like he was discussing architecture. Heâd describe the way you moved on stage and somehow make it feel like he was touching you with his words alone.
More than once, youâd excused yourself to the bathroom after a conversation with him, your underwear embarrassingly wet, your body buzzing with want. He was a gentleman, always. But there was something underneath, something dangerous that lurked behind those eyes and that smooth voice. Something that promised he could be very, very ungentlemanly if given the chance.
Tonight was different though. The city was on edge, well it had been for a while now. Three more people had gone missing in the last fortnight, all last seen in nightclubs or on their way home from them. The papers screamed about a possible serial killer, a âJazz- Age Jack the Ripper.â The laughter at The Pixis seemed forced now, the applause thinner.
Your friends from the lounge, Sadie and Pieck, were especially jumpy. After your Friday night set, the three of you were changing in the dressing room, accompanied by none other than quiet anxiety.
âI donât like it,â Pieck muttered, struggling with the clasp of her necklace. âMy pa wonât stop telling me to quit. Says itâs not safe for a girl to work nights.â
âItâs never been safe,â Sadie snorted, wiping off her stage makeup with cold cream. âBut now it feelsâŚeven scarier. I keep looking over my shoulder.â
You were feeling it too, but you hated to see some of your favorite girls so down.
âWe should go out,â you said suddenly, turning from the mirror. âSomewhere loud. Somewhere bright. Letâs go to The Sapphire Room. Theyâve got that new swing band. Weâll dance until we canât think.â
Sadieâs eyes lit up. âYou know, thatâs not a half-bad idea. Iâve been wound tighter than a clock.â Pieck hesitated, then nodded. âAlright. But we stick together. No wandering off.â
âPerfect" you said, a real smile touching your lips for the first time all night.
You chose your dress with care. It was a new acquisition, a sinful indulgence from a second-hand shop that specialized in clothes from fallen society girls. Orange-brown silk, shot through with golden threads, beaded with tiny amber crystals. It was a body-con garment that clung to every curve, with a ruffled hem that swished around your mid-thigh. It was not a dress for a lady. It was a dress for a woman who wanted to be looked at. You paired it with silk stockings, T-strap heels, and left your hair down in loose waves.
You looked like a sunset distilled into a woman.
The Sapphire Room was a different from The Pixis. It was bigger, brighter, bawdier. The air vibrated with the blare of trumpets and the pounding beat of a full swing band on a raised platform. The dance floor was a swirling mass of bodies, men in suits, women in fringe and sequins, all moving in a frantic, joyful release.
You lost Sadie and Pieck to the throng almost immediately, swallowed up by eager partners. So much for Piecks plan, but you didnât mind. You let the music get inside you, let it move your hips, your shoulders. A man in a pinstripe suit appeared in front of you, his face flushed with drink and good cheer. He didnât ask, just grabbed your hand and pulled you into the whirl."Let's go pretty lady."
You laughed, letting him spin you. The dress swirled around, the beads catching the light. It felt good to move without a microphone in your hand, to be just another body in the crowd. Another man cut in, then another. You became a prize to be passed around the floor, a flash of orange-brown silk in the sea of black and navy. You smiled, you danced, you let their hands settle on your waist, your back.
You were spinning away from the third man feeling a bit dizzy and breathless, when you collided with a chest that you had come to recognize along with his scent.
Sandwood. Old books. Rain. And underneath it all, something metallic.
Your hands came up, palms flattening against the fine wool of his jacket. You looked up.
Eren. His green eyes were like chips of stained glass under the spinning lights. He wasnât smiling fully, just a little smirk. His expression was intense, focused solely on you. âFancy meeting you here,â you said, your voice coming out a little breathy.
âI go where the music is,â he said, his voice low enough that you had to lean in to hear it over the band. His hands came to rest on your hips, his fingers spanning the curve of them through the silk. They were warm. Almost hot and it was making you feel hot too. âAnd I had a feeling youâd be where the music is.â
âYou followed me,â you said.
âI was in the neighborhood,â he said, a ghost of a smile finally touching his mouth. âSaw you through the window. Couldnât help myself.â
The song shifted to something slower, a bluesy number with a sensual beat. The dancers around you melted into closer embraces. Eren didnât ask. He simply pulled you against him, one hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you flush to his body. You could feel every hard plane of him. Your breasts were crushed against his chest, your stomach against his. Your head fit perfectly under his chin.
âThis is dangerous,â you murmured into his collar. You could smell his skin and oh how it feels like you feel under a spell.
âI know,â he breathed into your hair. âI donât see you moving away though, huh?"
You started to move with him. He was a good dancer, leading with subtle shifts of his body. You let him guide you, your bodies swaying as one unit. His hand on your back crept lower, one singular finger going agonizinly slow down your back before he rested his whole hand on the swell of your backside. A shiver racked your entire body. You turned your head, so your lips were near his ear.
âPeople are watching,â you whispered.
âLet them,â he whispered back. His breath was warm against your ear.
If he was gonna be bold, so could you. You turned in his arms so your back was to his chest. His arms wrapped around you, crossing over your stomach, holding you tight against him. You could feel his form against the base of your spine. A soft moan crawling its way out your throat.
âYeah,â he groaned softly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. âYou feel that don't you? Thatâs all for you. Has been for months.â
You arched your back, pressing yourself more firmly against him. His arms tightened. One of his hands slid up from your stomach, over the silk covering your ribs, stopping just shy of your breast. His thumb stroked the underside of the curve through the fabric. Your breath hitched.
âErenâŚâ
âTell me to be a gentleman and Iâll take my hands off you. Iâll walk you back to your friends and say goodnight.â
You didnât say a word. You turned your head, catching his gaze over your shoulder. You let him see the want in your eyes, the raw, unguarded hunger. Youâd hidden it for weeks, but you didnât hide it now.
His hand finally closed over your breast, palming it fully. The silk of the dress did nothing against his touch. You could feel the heat of his hand, the slight roughness of his palm. He squeezed, gently at first, then with more pressure. "Shit..." You closed your eyes and moaned just a bit into his ear. Your nipple that he had been twisting was now peaking painfully against the fabric, and you bit your lip to stifle a much louder moan from the sight.
His other hand slid down from your stomach, over the front of your dress, his fingertips pressing against the silk covering your mound. You gasped, your head falling back against his shoulder. The music was still pounding, people were still dancing all around you, but the world had narrowed to the space where his body met yours.
âWe need to leave,â Eren whispered into your ear. His voice was ragged. âRight fucking now.â
You nodded, unable to form words. His hand left your breast, grabbed your hand, and he was pulling you through the crowd. You followed, your legs shaky, your core throbbing with every step. You caught a glimpse of Sadieâs surprised face as you passed, but you didnât stop. You pushed through the packed bodies, past the bar, and out into the night.
The street was quieter, the jazz a muffled thump behind the closed doors. You were both breathing hard, clouds of vapor forming and vanishing in the lamplight. He still had your hand in a tight grip.
He led you down the block to where a beautiful black Packard was parked, its long hood gleaming under a streetlamp. It looked expensive, that must come with being rich. He opened the passenger door for you and you slid in, the smooth leather of the seat cool against your bare thighs where the dress had ridden up. He closed the door, walked around the front with quick, long strides, and got in behind the wheel. The engine growled to life with a turn of the key.
He drove fast, his eyes on the road. You watched his profile, the way his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. You reached over, tentatively, and placed your hand on his thigh, massaging it a bit. The muscle there was taut as a steel cable. He glanced at you, his green eyes glowing in the dark of the car.
âIf you keep touching me, Iâm going to wreck this car,â he said, his voice tight.
âThen pull over,â you heard yourself say. The words were out before you could think them through.
A low sound came from his throat, almost a snarl. âNot a chance.â
He kept driving, leaving the bright lights and crowded streets of the city center behind. The buildings grew farther apart, giving way to larger estates shrouded in trees. Finally, he turned onto a long, private drive lined with old, gnarled oaks. At the end of it stood his house.
It was exactly as youâd pictured in your wildest, darkest imaginings. A tall structure of blackened brick, all sharp angles and pointed arches. Gothic spires clawed at the night sky. It was beautiful in a way that made your stomach flip, like looking at a sharp knife. He parked in front of the heavy wooden door and killed the engine.
He got out, came around, and opened your door. You took his offered hand and stepped out, your heels sinking into the gravel. He didnât let go of your hand. He led you up the wide stone steps to the door, unlocked it with an old, ornate key, and pushed it open.
Inside, it was dark and cavernous. The air was cool, smelled of old stone. He flicked a switch, and a chandelier high above sputtered to life, casting a dim, wavering light over a grand foyer. A wide staircase curved upwards into shadows.
âWould you like a drink?â he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. He was still playing the part of the host, but the act was paper-thin. You could see the tension in every line of his body, the barely-restrained need.
You shook your head. You were done with pretending. You turned to face him, reached up, grabbed his face, pulling his mouth down to yours.
His lips were soft, just like you remembered from the touch on your glove, but they moved against yours with a hunger. You opened your mouth to him and his tongue plunged inside, tasting of whiskey and something awfully metallic. You moaned into his mouth, your hands sliding from his jacket to tangle in his hair. It was as soft as it looked.
He walked you backward, his mouth never leaving yours, until your back hit the cold stone wall next to the staircase. The impact jarred you so much you broke the kiss for a second. You were both panting. His eyes were wild, his pupils blown wide, leaving only a thin ring of green and a string of saliva connecting both of your tongues.
âUpstairs,â he managed to say. âNow.â
You didnât need telling twice. You took the stairs two at a time, him right behind you, his hand on the small of your back as if he was afraid youâd vanish. The hallway upstairs was dark, but he seemed to know exactly where he was going. He pushed open a heavy door and pulled you inside his bedroom.
It was large, dominated by an enormous four-poster bed with dark velvet hangings. A fireplace held cold ashes. Books were piled on every available surface. Moonlight streamed in through a tall, narrow window.
The door clicked shut behind you. You were on him again in an instant, kissing him roughly, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor. Your hands went to the buttons of his waistcoat, fumbling in your haste. He helped you, tearing it open, sending buttons pinging across the wooden floor. His shirt followed, ripped open down the front. You ran your hands over his chest. His skin was pale, almost luminous in the moonlight, stretched tight over hard muscle. He was perfect.
You kissed him again, your tongue sweeping into his mouth. And thatâs when you felt them. The sharp points.
You froze. Your tongue had glided right over them. Two elongated canines, sharp as needles.
You pulled back, breaking the kiss with a wet sound. Your eyes flew open. You stared at his mouth. His lips were red and wet from your kiss. He wasnât smiling. He was watching you, his expression unreadable.
âErenâŚâ you whispered.
His eyes began to shine. Not a trick of the light. They literally glowed from within, a eerie emerald light. âSurprise,â he said, his voice a low rasp.
Before you could react, he moved. It was too fast for a human. One second he was in front of you, the next you were on your back on the giant bed, the velvet covers soft beneath you. He was on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head with one large hand. His weight was immense.
He lowered his head to your neck. You felt the warm puff of his breath against your skin. He inhaled deeply, his nose tracing the line of your jugular. Something had been bugging you ever since you met him. He was always so gentle yet so mysterious. Mostly out at night.
âI knew it,â you breathed, more to yourself than to him.
âKnew what?â he murmured against your skin. His lips brushed the frantic pulse there.
âThat you were different. Dangerous.â
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. âDangerous is one word for it.â He licked a stripe up your neck, from your collarbone to your ear. You gasped. His tongue felt like fire. âYouâre different too, you know. From the others.â
âOthers?â You tried to twist, but he held you easily.
âThe women,â he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. His mouth was right by your ear. âThe ones who go missing. The papers have it all wrong. Itâs not a man with a knife. Itâs a man with fangs.â He kissed just below your earlobe. âMost of them⌠theyâre just food. A quick drink in an alley, a body dumped in the river. Easy. Forgettable.â
His free hand came up and cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. His glowing eyes were terrifying, beautiful. âBut you⌠I saw you that first night. On that stage. You shone. Like a fucking beacon. I couldnât just take you. I had to have you. All of you.â
His confession should have horrified you. It shocked you. But it also sent a flood of heat straight to your core. You were wet, so wet you could feel it soaking through your silk panties. The monster had chosen you. Not to kill quickly, but to⌠to what?
âMy latest prey,â he whispered, nuzzling your neck again. âBut I donât want to just drain you dry. Not yet. I want to taste you. I want to fuck you while I drink from you. I want to feel you cum on my cock while your blood is on my tongue.â
The filthiness of his words, the raw, graphic hunger in them, made you whimper. Your hips bucked up against him involuntarily. You felt it, his erect dick, still confined in his trousers, press against your center.
âYou want that too,â he observed, his voice smug. âI can smell it on you. The fear⌠and the want. Theyâre mixing together. Itâs intoxicating.â
He shifted his weight, releasing your wrists. Before you could move, his hands were on the straps of your dress. He pulled them down your arms in one rough motion, baring your torso to the waist. The beaded silk pooled around your hips. The cold air hit your skin, making your nipples harden instantly. He stared down at your breasts, his glowing eyes full of a reverence that was completely at odds with the things heâd just said.
âSo beautiful,â he murmured. He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth.
You cried out, arching off the bed. His mouth was hot, his tongue rough as it lashed over the sensitive peak. He sucked, hard, drawing the flesh deep into his mouth, his fangs scraping delicately against the areola. The combination of him being a threat and searing pleasure was dizzying. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same torturous attention, biting and sucking until you were squirming beneath him, your fingers clutching at the velvet bedspread.
âPlease,â you heard yourself beg.
He lifted his head. His lips and chin were slick with your scent, with his saliva. âPlease what?â His hand slid down your stomach, over the silk of your dress bunched at your hips, and cupped your covered up pussy between your legs. You gasped, your eyes rolling back. He pressed the heel of his hand against your clothed clit. âTell me what you want, sweetheart."
âI want you to bite me,â you blurted out.
His eyes flashed brighter. âYeah?â
âYes. Do it.â
A grin spread across his face. âOfcourse, sweetheart.â
He dove for your neck again. This time, there was no preamble. You felt the piercing pain, twin points of exquisite pressure breaking your skin. You gasped so hard it felt like the air was caught in your throat. For a second, it was just pain.
Then it changed.
A wave of pure pleasure washed over you, so intense it bordered on pain itself. It started at the point where his fangs were buried in your flesh and radiated outward, a molten heat that flooded your veins, pooled in your belly, made your toes curl. Your back arched violently off the bed. A long, broken moan was torn from your throat.
He groaned against your neck, the sound vibrating through out your entire body. He was drinking, swallowing, his throat working. And with each pull, another wave of that impossible pleasure crashed through you. It was an aphrodisiac. Ofcourse. Your mind went blank, white noise and fireworks. You were grinding yourself against his hand, which was still pressed against you, desperate for more friction.
âFuck,â he snarled, pulling his mouth from your neck with a wet pop. Blood, your blood, smeared his lips, dripped down his chin. His eyes were blazing. âYou taste⌠fuck.â
He kissed you, hard. You could taste your own blood on his tongue. It should have been disgusting. It was the most erotic thing youâd ever experienced. You kissed him back greedily, sucking on his tongue, licking the blood from his lips.
He broke the kiss, breathing raggedly. âYouâre mine now,â he said, his voice guttural. âYou understand that, don't you?"
In that moment, swimming in the haze of blood-loss euphoria and lust, you didnât care. âYes,â you panted.
He finally moved his hand from between your legs to yank at your dress, pulling it and your stockings down your hips and legs in one frantic motion. He tossed them off the side of the bed. You were left in just your silk panties, which were soaked through, a dark patch visible even in the dim light. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and ripped them off you, the sound of tearing silk loud in the room.
They were one of your good pairs but you didn't give a shit right now.
He stared down at your naked body with a ravenous gaze. He leaned down and kissed your stomach, licking a path between your legs. You tensed, expecting his mouth on your dripping, plump cunt, but he didnât stop. He kissed the inside of your thigh, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin, then bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make you jump and cry out.
âSo responsive,â he muttered against your flesh. His fingers moving slowly against your dripping folds. His fingers moved slowly against your dripping folds. They traced the outer lips, slick with your wetness, the pads of his fingers barely touching you. He was mocking you. Drawing out the moment, making you wait. You whimpered, lifting your hips off the bed in a silent plea for more pressure.
"None of that," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against the skin of your thigh. He pressed a kiss to the bite mark he'd left there, then returned his attention between your legs. His fingers continued their maddening exploration, sliding up and down your slit, gathering wetness, but avoiding the spot that ached for him. He parted your lips with two fingers, exposing the glistening, flushed pink flesh within. Your pussy was swollen, the hood of your clit visible and sensitive to the cool air. You were completely bare, having learned long ago that hair could complicate things, could hold a scent you didn't want lingering.
He blew a cool stream of air across your exposed core. You shuddered, a full-body twitch that made the velvet covers rustle. "Fuck, Eren, please," you begged, your voice cracking.
"Please what?" he asked, his tone conversational, as if he were asking about the weather. He dragged a single fingertip from the bottom of your slit all the way to the top, circling your clit once, so lightly it was torture. "You have to use your words."
"Touch me. Fucking touch me properly."
He chuckled. "As you wish."
His middle finger dipped inside you, just the tip, breaching your entrance. You gasped. Your inner walls clenched around nothing, desperate for more. He withdrew it, then pushed back in, a little deeper this time. In, out. A shallow, teasing penetration. You could feel the drag of his finger, the wet sounds it made. "Yeah, moan just like that." He added a second finger, stretching you slightly. The stretch was good, but it wasn't enough. He kept the pace slow.
He was doing this on purpose.
"Look at you," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "So wet. So needy. I've barely touched you and you're soaking my hand."
You turned your head to the side, embarrassed by how exposed you were, how desperate. But he wasn't having it. His free hand came up, grabbed your chin, forced you to look down at him. His eyes were still glowing, that eerie green light making him look otherworldly. "Watch," he commanded.
You obeyed. You watched as his fingers disappeared inside you, then reappeared, coated in your slick. "Aghh, fuck yes, yes." He pumped them in deeper, curling them slightly. When he found that spot inside you, that bundle of nerves that made stars burst behind your eyelids, you cried out. Your back arched, your hands fisted in the velvet. "AAGH!"
"There it is," he said with a grin. He stroked that spot again, and again, his fingers moving faster now. The wet sounds grew louder, obscene in the otherwise silent room. Your thighs began to tremble. He added a third finger, stretching you wider, filling you more. The sensation was overwhelming. His thumb found your clit, pressed down on it in small circles, so much so you could feel the roughness of his finger going over your clit before getting slicked with your wetness.
"Oh god, oh fuck, yeesss" you panted. Your hips were moving of their own accord now, grinding down onto his hand, meeting each thrust of his fingers. The pleasure was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach. He was watching you with rapt attention, his mouth slightly open, his fangs visible. He licked his lips at the sight of you.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Ride my fingers. Take what you need. Don't stop till you had your fill."
His fingers moved faster, harder. The sound of your wetness was filthy. You could feel it running down, wetting the sheets beneath you. It was making you dizzy. "Oh yes. Oh fuck yes!" His thumb rubbed your clit in tight, fast circles. The combination was too much. You felt the orgasm building, felt it racing toward you like a train. Your inner walls started to flutter around his fingers.
"Eren, I'm-I'm gonna-"
"Come on, songbird" he growled. "Cum on my hand. Let me see you clench around these fingers."
You shattered. The orgasm ripped through you with such intensity that you screamed. "Eren aghhh!" Your body convulsed, your pussy clenching around his fingers, gripping them tight, just like he asked. But, he didn't stop. He kept pumping them in and out, kept circling your clit, drawing out your climax until you were sobbing, tears streaming down your face from the intensity. He was such a bastard. And that turned you on even more. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, each one leaving you more wrecked than the last. "Shit, baby yes."
Finally, it subsided. Your body went limp, boneless against the bed. He withdrew his fingers slowly. You felt empty without them. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought his hand up to his face. His fingers were glistening, dripping with your release. He held your gaze as he slipped them into his mouth, one by one, sucking them clean. His eyes fluttered closed, and he moaned like he was tasting the finest wine.
"Fucking delicious," he murmured when he'd licked every trace of you from his skin.
Something in you shifted. The post-orgasmic bliss began to fade, replaced by a different kind of hunger. You sat up slowly, your breast exposed to the firelight as you sat up straight. Eren watched them move for a second before he locked his eyes on yours again. Curiosity began to flicker in his glowing eyes. You crawled toward him on your hands and knees across the bed. He was still mostly dressed, his shirt torn open, his trousers tented obscenely at the front. You straddled him, settling your bare, wet pussy against the bulge in his pants.
He hissed, his hands coming to your hips, massaging them tenderly. "What are you doing?"
You didn't answer. You started to move, rolling your hips, grinding yourself against him. Even through the fabric, you could feel how hard he was, how big. The friction against your sensitive clit made you gasp and lean your head back for a moment. "Oh fuck," You braced your hands on his shoulders and moved faster, chasing another high.
Your folds gliding across the fabric making it wetter and wetter. It was so erotic and addicting to look at, you even brought your fingers to your mouth, coating them in saliva, before bringing them down to rub at your clit.
"Fuck," he breathed, his grip on your hips tightening. He was watching your face, watching the way your mouth fell open, the way your eyes glazed over. You leaned forward, bringing your face to his neck. You inhaled deeply. He smelled incredible. That sandwood and something like coffee, but underneath it, something richer. Copper.
Blood.
You licked a stripe up the column of his throat. His pulse was there, fast beneath his pale skin. You opened your mouth and let your teeth glid across his neck for a moment. "You smell so good, Eren." He groaned, his hips bucking up against you. As you did the same letting out a moan right next to his ear. You took your hand and brought it to the other side of his neck, whispering again.
"I'm a bit thirsty too."
You bit down, not hard enough to break skin. Not yet. You sucked at the spot, leaving a mark. Then you opened your mouth wider, positioned your teeth right between his shoulder and neck, and bit down hard.
Your fangs sank into his flesh with ease.
Eren went rigid beneath you. His entire body locked up. "What the, oh fuck!" He was stunned to say the least. He couldn't stop himself from bucking up into you harder. Grabbing at your backside and spreading it as you drank his blood.
Its been a while since you had blood like this. This rich, this delectable, this addicting. "Mmm."
You pulled back slightly, blood flooding your mouth. His blood. You swallowed, then slowly licked the puncture wounds, feeling them begin to close already. You smiled down at him with a wicked grin. You knew what you must look like. Your bottom lip smeared with his blood, your eyes probably glowing now too, that telltale amber light that came with feeding.
"Surprise," you said, throwing his own word back at him.
His eyes were wide, shocked. His mouth opened and closed, no words coming out. You could see his mind working, trying to process what had just happened. You ground down on him again, reminding him of where you were, what you were doing.
"There is no way" he finally managed.
"A girl has to wat right?" you said. You leaned down, licked another stripe up his neck, tasting the remnants of his blood on his skin. "Did you really think you were the only monster in this city?"
"The missing people," he said, the pieces clicking into place. He didn't look scared or angry, he looked impressed and turned on. "You're the one thats been killing recently,huh?"
"Mhm," you confirmed. You sat back, still straddling him, still moving your hips in lazy circles. You could feel your cunt gripping at nothing. "The men mostly. And some women that piss me off. " You tilted your head, regarding him with amusement. "That night you found me, when I was running? I knew there was someone there." You ground down on him harder, causing him to moan and smack your ass in return. You moaned before speaking again, keeping your hips grinding against his clothed cock.
"I knew. I knew some bad man was chasing me. I made my prey think I was helpless. Works every time. They always want to play hero, but then you showed up and interrupted my meal."
"Jesus Christ," he muttered.
"Not quite," you said with a laugh. You reached between your bodies, started unbuttoning his trousers. "You wanted to eat me. I'm here now." You looked deep into his eyes as you brought your thumb to your lips to wipe his blood off and brought it to his plump pink lips.
He smiled before taking your thumb into his mouth and sucking the blood, his blood off of it. You leaned down and whispered. "Undo me, Eren."
Something snapped in him. You saw it happen, saw the shock morph into something hungrier. His hands went from your hips to your ass, gripping hard enough to bruise. "You're fucking insane," he said.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Not at all, sweetheart. Its hot as hell."
You freed him from his trousers, pulling his cock out. It sprang up between you. A nude pink at the tip. It was beautiful. Long, with veins running along the shaft, a slight curve that you knew would hit all the right spots. Precum was already beading at the slit. You wrapped your hand around it, gave it a slow stroke, It was so damn hard, not to jump on his cock right now. He was hot in your palm, rock hard. He groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. "Mmmm fuck baby."
"You've been thinking about this," you said, stroking him again. "Haven't you? All those nights watching me sing. You were thinking about fucking me." You were teasing, licking up the side of his dick for a moment.
"Every goddamn night," he admitted through gritted teeth. "I'd go home and jerk off thinking about you. About bending you over that piano. About making you scream my name." Oh, he was obsessed. You loved the kind of man who could only see you, it made you clench again.
"Dirty boy," you purred. You ground your wet pussy against his cock, coating him in your slick wetness. The head of his dick bumped against your clit and you moaned. "I want to...fuck you so bad right now." You were so wet, so ready. You could just sink down on him right now, take him all the way inside. But you wanted to draw this out. Wanted to make him suffer the way he'd made you suffer.
You kissed him, pushing your tounge into his mouth and just exploring. He kissed you back just as roughly, his hands roaming your body, squeezing your ass, your breasts, your waist as you continued to slid your wet fold on his dick. "Mmm!" He moaned against your mouth as he slapped your ass. You bit his bottom lip, drawing blood before sucking on it and catching his eyes. "You taste so good, Eren." He growled into your mouth, retaliating by biting yours. The pain was exquisite.
You both took turns sucking on tounges, or biting lips as your hands traveled over eachkthers bodies. Everything about it was just invigorating.
You pulled back, breathless. You looked down at him. His hair was a mess, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen and bloody. He looked completely debauched and you loved it. "I want to taste you."
Before he could respond, you slid off him, off the bed. Your knees hit the floor, the plush carpet soft beneath them. The fireplace across the room had ignited somehow during your activities, maybe Eren had done it, or maybe it was just the heat between you both, and firelight danced across your skin, painting you in shades of orange and gold.
Eren sat up, moved to the edge of the bed. His legs spread, his cock jutting up between them, still hard and leaking. You settled between his thighs, looking up at him with those doe eyes you use. "You want me to put this dick in my mouth?" His eyes were locked on yours, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. "Yeah...suck my dick, sweetheart."
You leaned forward, licked the underside of his cock from base to tip. He tasted like musk and skin, it left you even more wet, your wetness soaking the carpet. He hissed, his hands fisting in the sheets. You did it again, slower this time, tracing the thick vein with your tongue. Then you took the head into your mouth, sucking gently.
"Oh fuck," he groaned.
You hummed around him, the vibration making him twitch. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, creating suction. You could only fit about half of him in your mouth before he hit the back of your throat. You pulled back, took a breath, then went down again, trying to take more. Saliva pooled in your mouth, dripping down his shaft, making everything slick and messy.
You pulled off with a wet pop, looked up at him. His eyes were glowing brighter now, his fangs fully extended. He looked feral. You smiled, then spit on his cock. The glob of saliva slid down his length. You wrapped both hands around him, started stroking him, using your spit as lubricant. You twisted your wrists with each upstroke, paid special attention to the head, rubbing your thumb over the sensitive spot just beneath it.
"Goddamn," he panted. His hips were moving now, fucking up into your hands. "That mouth. Fuck."
You leaned down, took one of his balls into your mouth, sucking gently while your hands continued their work on his cock. He groaned, one of his hands coming down to tangle in your hair. Not pulling, just holding. Grounding himself. You switched to the other one, gave it the same treatment, then licked your way back up his shaft.
This time when you took him in your mouth, you didn't hold back. You relaxed your throat, pushed past your gag reflex, and took him all the way down. Your nose pressed against the coarse hair at his base. You held there for a moment, swallowing around him, feeling him pulse in your throat. Then you pulled back, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock.
You did it again. And again. Each time taking him deep, each time coming up gasping and drooling. Your eyes were watering, your jaw aching, but you didn't care. You loved the way he fell apart, the way his thighs trembled, the way he moaned your name like a prayer.
"I'm close," he warned, his voice strained. "If you don't want me to come in your mouth, you better-"
You took him deep again, sucked hard, and felt him explode. His cock pulsed, hot ropes of cum shooting down your throat. You swallowed it all, kept sucking, milking him through his orgasm. He was moaning, a long, low sound that vibrated through the room. When he finally stopped, you pulled off, licked him clean, then sat back on your heels.
He was staring at you like you'd just performed a miracle. His chest was heaving, his skin flushed. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning up at him.
"Holy shit," he breathed.
You stood up, but before you could say anything, he was on you. He moved with vampire speed, grabbing you, lifting you. Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically as you yelped in surprise. "Oh you're eag-" He kissed you, hard, cutting you off. You could taste yourself on his tongue, just as he could taste himself on yours. His cock, still hard despite having just cum, pressed against your entrance. "Mmmm, holy..shit!"
You ground down against him, coating him in your wetness again. "Its not even in me yet and I want to cum." The stimulation made you both moan into each other's mouths. He walked you backward, then sideways, navigating the room by memory. Then you were falling. Your back hit the bed, the velvet covers soft beneath your skin. He came down on top of you as his weight pinned you down.
He reached between your bodies, grabbed his cock, positioned it at your entrance. You felt the blunt head pressing against you, beginning to stretch you open. Your breath caught. "You got it baby. Deep breathes." He pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch was intense. He was bigger than his fingers, thicker, and you felt every bit of him as he filled you. "Aaagghhhh fuuuuuck!"
"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned. "So fucking tight."
You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "Don't stop," you panted. "Don't you dare fucking stop."
He bottomed out, his hips flush against yours. You were completely full, stretched to your limit. "AAGGHH YES!" He stayed there for a moment, letting you adjust. You could feel him pulsing inside you, could feel your walls clenching around him. Then he pulled back, almost all the way out, and slammed back in.
You screamed. The pleasure was blinding. He set a brutal pace, pounding into you with abandon. The bed shook with each thrust, the headboard slamming against the wall. The sounds were obscene and so fucking good all at the same time. Skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your pussy taking his cock in further into your gummy walls, both of your moans and gasps.
"Yeah, little songbird. Sing for me."
He grabbed your wrists, pinned them above your head with one hand. His other hand went to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there. His hips pistoned, driving into you over and over and over again. Each thrust hit that spot inside you, that sweet spot that made you see stars, made your mind go blank, made you shiver and tremble.
"That's it," he growled. "Take it. Take my cock."
"R-right..there!"
He obliged. His grip on your wrists tightened, his hand on your throat squeezed slightly, cutting off just enough air to make your head spin. He fucked you like he hasn't fucked in decades, each thrust driving you up the bed and the headboard intk the wall. You were going to come again. You could feel it building, faster this time, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter.
"Come oooooonnn," he urged. "Cum on my cock. Let me feel that pussy, baby."
You came with a shout, your body convulsing beneath him. Your pussy clamped down on his cock, milking him dry, or so you though. Yet again, he didn't stop. He kept fucking you through your orgasm, prolonging it, making it go on and on until you were sobbing. "Eren...baby please- I- I..."
But he wasn't done. Not even close.
He pulled out of you suddenly, flipped you onto your stomach. You were still shaking from your orgasm, but he didn't give you time to recover. He grabbed your hips, pulled them up so your ass was in the air. Then he was inside you again, slamming in from behind.
This angle was even deeper. You buried your face in the pillows, muffling your screams. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks, using them as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with each thrust. He watched as your ass bounced and recoiled with every thrust. The sight was a sight to behold. The sound of his balls slapping against your pussy was loud in the room and was making you wetter every second.
He leaned over you, his chest against your back, his mouth at your ear. "You feel so fucking good," he panted. "So. Fucking. Good. Keep taking this dick."
You turned your head, trying to look at him. He saw the challenge in your eyes and grinned. He slowly pulled out, feeling your tight hole try to cling to it. He smiled before flipping you onto your back again, then drove back inside in a maddening pace. This time he hooked your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. The new angle made him hit even deeper, made you feel impossibly full.
"Look at you," he said, his voice rough. "Look at you taking my dick. Fuck, you're beautiful like this."
You were drooling, you realized. Couldn't help it. The pleasure was too much, your mind had gone blank. All you could focus on was the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, ruining you. Your eyes were glowing, you knew. That amber light that came when you were feeding or feeling intense emotion.
Eren noticed. His grin turned predatory. He leaned down, his hair falling into his face, creating a curtain around both of you. "There she is," he murmured.
He bit into your neck again, in the same spot as before. You screamed, the combination of his fangs in your flesh and his cock in your pussy sending you into another orgasm. This one was different, more intense, bordering on painful. Your entire body seized up, every muscle locking. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
He drank from you as he fucked you, swallowing mouthfuls of your blood. The aphrodisiac effect worked both ways. You could feel it flooding through him, making him harder, making him fuck you with renewed vigor. His thrusts became erratic, losing their rhythm.
He pulled his mouth from your neck, blood dripping from his fangs. "Whose pussy is this?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.
"Yours," you gasped.
"Say it again."
"It's yours, Eren. My pu- pussy is yours!"
"Mhmmm."
He changed the angle again, somehow finding a way to go even deeper. His balls slapped against you with every thrust, the sound vulgar and perfect. He reached between your bodies, found your clit, rubbed it in fast circles with two fingers as he pressed down. You were going to cum again. How many times was this now? You'd lost count.
"Sing for me," he commanded. "Sing like you do at that lounge. Let me hear that pretty voice scream."
You did. You screamed his name as another orgasm tore through you. "Errreeeennn!" You screamed until your voice went hoarse, until your throat was raw. He kept fucking you through it, kept rubbing your clit, drawing it out until you were thrashing beneath him, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation.
"Don't run from it," he growled, holding you in place. "Stay right here. Let me keep fucking this pussy."
You were crying now, tears streaming down your face. It was too much. Too good. Your body didn't know whether to chase the pleasure or flee from it. "I can't," you sobbed. "I can't take anymore." You were thrashing a bit, your heels digging deeper into the bed.
"Yes you can, sweetheart" he said firmly. "You can take it. You're going to take everything I give you."
He shifted again, pulling your legs off his shoulders, pushing them wide, opening you up even more. He leaned over you, his face inches from yours, his hair creating that curtain again. His hips snapped forward, each thrust making your whole body jolt.
"Look at you taking this dick," he said, his voice full of wonder and lust. "Fuck, baby. You're sucking me in like this and you wanted me to stop?" He started moving faster and faster as you leaned your head back and screamed his name. "Eren fuuuuuuuccckkk!"
He smiled and laughed as he began to get louder. "Yeah baby, sing for me."
He sat up slightly, grabbed your hips, and really let loose. He pounded into you with everything he had, the bed shaking so hard you thought it might break. Your breasts bounced with each impact, and he couldn't seem to look away from them. He leaned down, took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard you though he might draw a bit of blood. You arched into him, your hands flying to his hair, holding him against you. "Yes, aghh baby please."
He bit down on your nipple, his fangs piercing the sensitive flesh. You screamed again, the pain mixing with pleasure in a way that shouldn't make sense but did. "Yes, yes, yes!" He drank from you there too, just a few mouthfuls, then moved to the other breast, gave it the same treatment. You were covered in bite marks now, marks that would heal by tomorrow but for now made you look thoroughly claimed.
"I'm close," he grunted, his rhythm stuttering. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum." You could feel him rearranging your insides as your drool trailed down the side of your mouth towards your scalp. "I..I..I..."
He held your waist, his fingers making mark in your skin as he leaned down towards your ear, his breath tickling your skin. "Use those words, sweetheart." You swallowed as he continued to pound deeper and deeper into to your aching cunt. "Cum..inside..."
"Yeah, you want me to fill you up, watch my cum eack out your wet pussy, huh?" You didn't say anything, couldn't do anything but moan and gasp. That seemed to make him want to go harder. As he drove into you faster, your vison became hazy.
Your brain was nothing but fog.
You've never felt anything like this in your life. He grabbed your chin, licking away your drool before whispering against your lips, "I said use your words, songbird. You want me to cum inside your cunt?"
You somehow found your voice, even if it was small. "Yes." He smiled against your lips as he moved faster, his balls slapping against your in-between your legs. You were crying getting louder as he reached into the deepest part of you, making you jolt a bit in the air. "Holy fuck yes!"
That pushed him over the edge. He slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and came with a loud moan of his own. You felt him pulsing inside you, felt the hot flood of his release coating your walls. It triggered one more orgasm in you, smaller but no less intense. You clenched around him, milking every last drop from his cock.
He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting, covered in sweat and blood and other fluids. Your heart was racing, your body completely spent. He was still inside you, softening slowly. You didn't want him to pull out yet. You wanted to stay connected like this, joined together.
Eventually, he rolled off you, pulling out with a wet sound. You both hissed at the loss. You laid there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. Your thighs were trembling, your pussy was sore and used, it would heal soon but, damn. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, running down the inside of your thighs and onto the bed.
Eren propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you. He reached between your legs, gathered some of his release on his fingers, making you jolt a bjt as his finger tips brushed across your clit.. Then he brought them to your lips. Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, sucked his fingers clean. The taste was salty, bitter, but nonetheless delicious. You licked between his fingers, making sure you got every drop and making sure you kept your eyes locked on his.
"Jesus," he muttered, watching you with dark eyes.
You released his fingers, smiled up at him. For a long moment, you both just looked at each other. Your glows were fading now, eyes returning to their normal colors. The room was a mess. The sheets were soaked with various fluids, pillows scattered across the floor, the headboard had left dents in the wall. You both looked like you'd been through a war.
It sure as hell felt like it.
After a few minutes, you found your voice again. Stronger than the last time. You looked over at him, your hair laid out on the mattress below as you spoke. "How long have you been a vampire?"
He laughed. He flopped onto his back beside you with a grunt as he sighed and put a hand under his head, looking up at the ceiling as the light from the fireplace made weird shadows. "About sixty years." His head turned to look at you as he spoke in a whisper now. "And what about you?"
"Seventy-three," you said. "Turned in 1857."
"1867," he confirmed. He turned his head to look at the ceiling again before looking at you once more. "And you've been hunting in this city how long?"
"Two years," you said. "Yo-"
"Three."
You chuckled at that and placed yohr hand on your chest before letting out a sigh. "And we never crossed paths until six months ago."
"Funny how that works." He laughed just the same. You both laid there silently listening to the wood in the fireplace burn as you were trying to catch up. You turned onto your side, your hair falling to the side of your face and tilted your head ever so slightly. He mirrored your position. You reached out, traced a finger down his chest, following the drying blood smears. "What now?" you asked.
He caught your soft hand in his, brought it to his beautiful pink lips, and kissed your palm. "Now I think we might have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
His green eyes met yours, and something in them made your breath catch. "I don't think I can let you go." You sat there stunned for a while before sitting up and over him, letting your hair fall over both of your faces. You whispered with a smile.
Synopsis: As a lounge singer, you see many captivating faces in the crowd, but none are as captivating as the man with the green eyes. He always watches from the far back, making your knees weak
But what happens when he finds you after the curtains close?
Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, strangers to lovers, vampire!eren, vampire bites are an aphrodisiac, mutual pining, scent kink, blood kink, blood sucking from neck, implied masturbation, oral fingering, handjob, Exhibitionism, spit, Dacryphilia.
Word count: 12,483!
The air in the lounge was warm tonight, smelling of spilled gin, expensive perfume, and the ever-present cloud of cigarette smoke that hung just below the gilded ceiling. It was just part of the scenery, like the worn velvet of the booths or the soft gleam of the brass foot-rail along the bar.
Low light from frosted glass sconces cast long, shifting shadows across the room, accompanied by the murmur of conversations. At a corner table, a group of men in tailored suits argued over a poker hand. Near the stage, a woman in a feathered headband laughed with her friends.
It was another Friday night at The Pixis Palladium, full of the same kind of people with the same kind of wants.
A drink, a game, a distraction.
You stood in the narrow space behind the crimson stage curtain, your right foot tapping on the dusty floorboards. You could hear the band finishing their last instrumental number. The number even had a few couples up and swaying. You took a slow breath. You were adorned in a deep red number with a drop waist and delicate beading that caught what little light there was back here. Your fingers went to your hair just to check.
It was pinned up in careful waves, a few artful curls escaping to frame your face. The makeup girl, Sadie, had done her usual magic, giving you a cupidâs bow lip and smoky eyes that made you look enchanting.
âFive seconds, doll,â a stagehand whispered. You nodded.
The music faded. The master of ceremonies, a portly man named Arthur with a booming voice, stepped into the spotlightâs white circle.
âAnd now, the voice that turns our whiskey to honey, the lady who makes our hearts beat a little faster⌠give a warm welcome to our own songbird!â
The applause was polite, punctuated by a few whistles from the usual hecklers near the front. You smoothed your hands down your dress. A smile, one youâd practiced a thousand times in the mirror, one that didnât quite reach your eyes, settled on your face. You pushed through the heavy curtain.
The light was as blinding at first but after you blinked just a few times, you could see better. You smiled as you walked to the center of the stage, your low heels clicking softly. You lifted a hand in a small wave, your eyes scanning the crowd as they always did, taking in the blurred faces in the dark beyond the stage lights.
"Sing for us dollface!"
"Come on pretty lady!"
Out of all the mens voices and whistles, your eyes immediately looked up and just a few seats back.
And then you found him. Like you always did now.
He was seated at a small round table for two near the back, far from the busiest part of the room. But the shadows didnât seem to cling to him. His silhouette was as clear as the bright moon in the sky. He sat with one arm draped over the back of the empty chair beside him.
In his other hand, he held a glass of something dark. Whiskey, you guessed. His hair was dark and brushed back from a strong, handsome face. But it was his eyes you always found first.
Green as fresh spring grass, as emeralds pulled from the earth. They stared at you from a table midway back, positioned perfectly in your line of sight.
Your smile faltered for just a heartbeat before you locked it back in place.
There you are.
The man with the green eyes. Heâd been coming for months. At first, youâd noticed him because he was so still. Everyone else fidgeted, talked, drank, laughed. He just watched. And he watched you. It wasnât a leer, not like some of the men who came to see the âgirl singer.â It was just so focused that it managed to make your skin prickle every single time.
You turned slightly to nod at the bandleader, Mr. Hoover. He gave a little nod back, his fingers poised over the piano keys. You turned back to the audience, finding those green eyes again. You let your gaze rest there for a second longer than you would with anyone else.
His eyes were just so hauntingly captivating.
A corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction.
You opened your mouth, and the first notes of âAinât Misbehavinââ came out. The band slid in perfectly behind you. You let the music take over, swaying gently with the beat, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the microphone stand. You performed the song, hitting the notes, putting in the little shrugs and winks the audience expected. "I'm saving my love for you."
More whistles and dog shouts erupted from the crowd.
Your eyes roamed the crowd, making brief contact with a smiling couple here, a nodding older gentleman there. But your attention, like a compass needle, kept swinging back to the back table.
He hadnât moved. He brought the glass to his lips and took a slow sip. His eyes never left yours. Not when a man at a nearby table let out a loud guffaw at a joke. Not when a waitress passed right in front of his table, blocking his view for a moment. His gaze was a fixed point. You feltlikeas if he was touching you.
It was unnerving.
It was exhilarating.
It made you put a little more ache into the song. As you sang your eyes met his, and for a wild second, you felt like you were singing the words directly to him. Seemed as if you were.
During a particularly soft bridge, you saw him take another drink. This time, a drop of the dark liquid escaped the rim of the glass and traced a path down his lower lip, over the faintest shadow of stubble on his chin. He didnât seem to notice at first, his eyes still locked on you. Then, with a slow, agonizing movement, he lifted his thumb and wiped the droplet away. His eyes finally broke from yours, glancing down at his thumb. He brought it to his mouth and sucked the whiskey off it, his gaze sliding back up to meet yours as he did so.
The action was mundane, but something about the way he did it, almost made you gasp, but you were a professional.
The rest of your set passed in a blur of melody, cheers, and hoots. You finished with an upbeat number, âI Canât Give You Anything But Love,â blowing a kiss to the audience as the applause swelled. You gave a final bow, your eyes sweeping the room one last time. He was clapping, slowly, three times. Just three. Then he set his glass down, before licking his lips.
You retreated behind the curtain, the cacophony of the lounge muffling as you heard Aruther walk up to speak again. Your heart was beating a little too fast.
âKnocked âem dead again, honey,â Sadie said, passing you with an armful of costume hangers. She winked. âEspecially that tall drink of water in the back. I saw him looking. Hell, everyone saw him looking.â
You managed a laugh, but it sounded breathy. âHeâs just a regular.â
âSome regular,â she said, her voice dropping. âKinda gives me the creeps, but damn if he isnât pretty to look at.â
You didnât answer, just made your way to the small, cluttered dressing room you shared with two other girls. You sat at your mirror, staring at your own reflection. The slightly smudged eyeliner, the red lipstick still intact. You unclipped your hair, letting the waves fall around your shoulders with a sigh.
The night came to an end as it always does. Sounds if the men stacking chairs, cleaning glasses, and the band packing up their instruments. You changed out of the beaded dress, hanging it carefully, and pulled on your own clothes as the other women, Historia and Pieck left the dressing room with sweet goodbyes. "See you all next time."
You slipped into your simple white-colored blouse, a black skirt, and stockings. Finally, you shrugged into your maroon coat. The collar and cuffs lined with soft, creamy fox fur. Perfect for the cold.
You said your goodbyes, poking your head into various rooms. âNight, Arthur.â âSee you tomorrow, Jimmy.â You found Mr. Pixis in his cramped office, going over the nightâs receipts with his spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
âHeading out, my dear?â he asked, looking up. His eyes were always so kind. He made sure that everyone was treated with respect at his establishment, especially the women.
âYes, sir. Good night.â
âWalk quickly,â he advised, as he always did. âItâs a strange world out there after dark.â
You nodded, with a smile. âAlways do.â
Pushing open the heavy brass and glass door of the lounge, you were consumed by the chill of the night air. It was a clean, free of smoke and multiple types of perfume. The street was quiet, most of the legitimate businesses closed for the night. A single, sickly yellow streetlamp cast a weak circle of light on the damp pavement a few doors down. You turned left, starting the eight-block walk to your boarding house.
Your heels echoed on the sidewalk, as you pulled the fur collar tighter around your neck, your gloved hands buried in the pockets. You were used to this walk. Youâd done it a hundred times. But you never liked it. The shadows between buildings seemed too deep. Every alley mouth was a gaping black maw.
Dangerous it was.
About three blocks in, you heard it. A soft, shuffling sound from behind you, like a shoe scraping over grit.
You froze for a second, your ears straining. Nothing. You shook your head. Just a cat. Or your imagination. You started walking again, a little faster.
Shuffle-scrape.
It was closer this time. And it wasnât a cat. It was the sound of footsteps trying to be quiet and failing. Your heart jumped into your throat. You didnât want to turn around. Turning around meant seeing what was there. Your pace quickened to a near-jog. Your boarding house was still five blocks away.
Shuffle-scrape. Shuffle-scrape.
They were keeping pace. Matching your speed. The sound was directly behind you now. Panic lanced through you. You broke into a full run, your purse banging against your hip, your breath coming in ragged gasps that fogged in the cold air. You dared a glance over your shoulder, trying to see a shape in the dark.
A stalker from the lounge?
That killer that had been on the loose?
It could be anyone.
You didnât see the person in front of you until it was too late.
You slammed into a chest, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. You stumbled backward, sure you were about to hit the hard pavement.
Strong hands shot out and caught you by the shoulders, stopping your fall effortlessly. The grip was firm but not painful, the fingers long and surprisingly elegant-looking against the dark wool of your coat. You looked up, gasping for breath.
And you found yourself staring into those same piercing green eyes.
He was even more striking up close. The dim streetlamp caught the angles of his face. The beautiful line of his jaw, the straight slope of his nose, the dark sweep of his brows. His lips looked soft as silk and as pink as rose. His mouth was set in a concerned line.
He also smelled so good.
Deliciously so.
âAre you all right?â he asked. His voice was lower than youâd imagined it would be, but nonetheless captivating. His hands were still on your shoulders, holding you steady.
For a moment, you were speechless. You just stared at him, your mind trying to reconcile the man from the shadowy lounge with the man holding you up on a dark street.
âI⌠Iâm sorry, sirâ you finally stammered, your voice shaky. You took a step back, and his hands fell away, leaving your shoulders feeling strangely cold. âI wasnât looking where I was going. I heard⌠I thought someone was following me.â
His expression didnât change, but his eyes moved from your face. He looked past you, down the dark stretch of sidewalk youâd just run from. His gaze was just like how it was at the lounge, focused. It was a hunterâs look. He stared at a particular patch of deeper shadow between two brick buildings, his body perfectly still. He didnât blink. You watched him, clutching your purse to your chest, your own fear momentarily forgotten in the strangeness of his concentration.
After what felt like a full minute, he blinked once, slowly, and looked back down at you. His eyes softened, the intense scrutiny replaced by something more gentle.
âItâs too late for a woman to be out alone, missâ he said simply. His voice held no judgment or malice. He gestured down the street with a slight tilt of his head. âAre you headed far?â
You swallowed. âJust to Acacia Street. The boarding house there.â
âMay I accompany you?â he asked. He didnât smile, but the offer seemed genuine. He extended his arm slightly, not quite offering it to take, but presenting the option. âIt would put my mind at ease.â
Every warning youâd ever heard, every bit of common sense screamed at you. Donât go with strangers. Especially men you donât know. Especially men who stare at you for months and then appear out of nowhere on a dark street. But another part of you, a part exhausted by fear and still humming from the adrenaline of the chase, looked at him. Heâd caught you when you fell. He hadnât tried to grab you or hurt you. Heâd just⌠asked. And those eyes, now that they were on you again, held nothing but safety.
Your caution wrestled with your desire to not walk the last five blocks alone. The memory of the shuffling footsteps decided it.
âOkay,â you said. âThank you.â
You didnât take his arm. You fell into step beside him, leaving a careful foot of space between you. He nodded, understanding, and began to walk, matching his longer stride to yours. The silence was total, broken only by the synchronized sound of your footsteps. The air felt colder now. You were focused on the man beside you, of the way his shoulder occasionally brushed the sleeve of your coat.
He walked with a kind of liquid grace, his movements completely silent aside from the tap of his fine leather shoes on the pavement. You found yourself glancing at him sideways, studying his profile. He seemed utterly unbothered by the quiet.
And breathing beautiful in the moonlight.
After a few blocks, the tension in your shoulders began to ease. The footsteps were gone. The street seemed less menacing with him beside you.
âYou have an incredible voice,â he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice didnât startle you, it was actually the complete opposite. It was like smooth molasses filled your ears.
You looked at him, surprised. âThank you, sirâ
âHow does one acquire a voice like that?â he asked. He looked straight ahead as he spoke. âTraining? Or were you simply born with it?â
You shrugged, a little thrown by the question. âBorn with it, I guess. I sang in church as a kid. Never had lessons or anything.â You paused. âMy mom said I was singing before I was talking.â
He turned his head to look at you then, a soft smile touching his lips. âA beautiful gift,â he said. âTo bring such a sound into the world. Itâs a rare thing.â
The compliment was so direct, so unadorned, that you felt your body starting to heat up. You looked away, focusing on the cracks in the sidewalk. âItâs just a job.â
âItâs more than that,â he said quietly. âI can see it when you sing.â
You didnât know how to answer that. So you just kept walking.
Finally, you turned onto Acacia Street. Your boarding house was halfway down the block, a tall, narrow building with a faint light glowing in the front parlor window.
âThis is me,â you said, stopping at the bottom of the three stone steps leading to the front door.
He stopped beside you, turning to face you fully. The weak light from the parlor window barely reached him, outlining him in soft gold. âIâm glad youâre home safely miss,â he said.
You stood there for a moment, suddenly feeling awkward. You should just say goodnight and go inside. But you felt a pull, a need to acknowledge this bizarre yet intriguing encounter. You stuck out your hand for a handshake. âThank you, Mr⌠Iâm sorry, I donât know your name.â
He looked down at your gloved hand, then back up at your face. He didnât take your hand to shake it. Instead, he reached out and gently turned it over, so your palm faced downward. His touch through the soft leather of your glove was a faint. Without breaking eye contact, he bent at the waist. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to the back of your gloved hand.
It wasnât a dry peck. He held his lips there for a full two seconds. You could feel the softness of his mouth, the slight pressure. A shiver ran straight up your arm and into your core. You had to bite your lip from how tender it was. His lips were warm. They felt dangerous. They felt like sin.
His eyes met yours as he kissed your hand, his lips finally pulling back. He straightened up, but he didnât let go of your hand. He kept his fingers lightly around your wrist, his thumb resting on your pulse point. He looked up from the spot heâd kissed, his green eyes finding yours. They seemed to drink in the streetlight.
âEren,â he said, âYou may call me Eren, if youâd like.â
You couldnât move. You couldnât breathe. Your pulse was hammering under his thumb, and you knew he could feel it. The feeling of his mouth on your glove was better than any kiss you have had with a man.
âEren,â you repeated, the name felt perfect on your tongue. You managed a smile as you looked up at him through your lashes. âWhat a lovely name. I'm Y/n."
He returned the smile, a little wider this time, showing a glimpse of white teeth. He finally released your hand, and you let it fall to your side, as he locked his eyes on yours again. "Your name is...intoxicatingly beautiful."
This man was dangerous. That voice, the looks, the gaze. It was enough to have a woman throw their panties at him, no man has ever held your attention like this, and yet, you had to go inside.
âGoodnight,â you whispered.
He simply nodded, a single, graceful dip of his head. âGoodnight.â
You turned, fumbling in your purse for your key. Your fingers were trembling. You found it, fitted it into the lock, and pushed the heavy door open. You stepped into the foyer, your cat immediately coming to wrap its furry body around and inbetween your legs. You paused, your hand still on the door.
You had to look. You had to see if he was still there.
You turned around, leaning back out the door.
The bottom of the stone steps were empty. The sidewalk was clear. You scanned the street, left and right. Nothing. No retreating figure, no shadow moving away. He was just gone. As if heâd never been there at all. As if the whole walk, his hand on your shoulder, his lips on your gloved hand, had been a vivid dream conjured by the night air and your own fear.
You stood there in the doorway for a long minute, staring at the empty space where he had stood. The chill from outside was beginning to seek inside your home, causing your cat to run towards your living room area, but you didn'treally feel it. All you felt was the lingering warmth on the back of your hand, and the realization that the man with the green eyes was now a man with a name.
Eren.
You finally pushed the door closed. You leaned back against the wood, and clutched your chest. The night was over, but something, you knew with a certainty was that, this will not be the last time you see him.
The weeks that followed that first encounter passed in a blur of music, smoke, and those green eyes.
Eren became a regular fixture, not just at The Pixis Palladium, but in your life. He started showing up everywhere. At the corner store where you bought your weekly groceries, somehow appearing in the produce section just as you were selecting apples. Outside the boarding house on Sunday mornings when you left for your walk in the park. At the library where you sometimes spent your afternoons off, reading romance novels in the back corner.
It should have been unsettling. It should have sent every warning bell in your head ringing. But instead, you found yourself looking for him. Anticipating his arrival. Your heart would do this stupid little jump whenever you spotted that dark hair and those devastating eyes.
The conversations started small. A comment about the weather. A question about what you were reading. But they grew. You learned he had a taste for jazz, that heâd traveled extensively though he never quite specified where, that he had an opinion on everything from politics to poetry. He was educated, well-spoken, and had this way of listening to you that made you feel like every word you said mattered.
And god, could he talk. His voice alone was enough to make your thighs clench together. But the things he said, the way he said them, always walking this razorâs edge between proper and provocative. Heâd compliment the curve of your neck and make it sound like he was discussing architecture. Heâd describe the way you moved on stage and somehow make it feel like he was touching you with his words alone.
More than once, youâd excused yourself to the bathroom after a conversation with him, your underwear embarrassingly wet, your body buzzing with want. He was a gentleman, always. But there was something underneath, something dangerous that lurked behind those eyes and that smooth voice. Something that promised he could be very, very ungentlemanly if given the chance.
Tonight was different though. The city was on edge, well it had been for a while now. Three more people had gone missing in the last fortnight, all last seen in nightclubs or on their way home from them. The papers screamed about a possible serial killer, a âJazz- Age Jack the Ripper.â The laughter at The Pixis seemed forced now, the applause thinner.
Your friends from the lounge, Sadie and Pieck, were especially jumpy. After your Friday night set, the three of you were changing in the dressing room, accompanied by none other than quiet anxiety.
âI donât like it,â Pieck muttered, struggling with the clasp of her necklace. âMy pa wonât stop telling me to quit. Says itâs not safe for a girl to work nights.â
âItâs never been safe,â Sadie snorted, wiping off her stage makeup with cold cream. âBut now it feelsâŚeven scarier. I keep looking over my shoulder.â
You were feeling it too, but you hated to see some of your favorite girls so down.
âWe should go out,â you said suddenly, turning from the mirror. âSomewhere loud. Somewhere bright. Letâs go to The Sapphire Room. Theyâve got that new swing band. Weâll dance until we canât think.â
Sadieâs eyes lit up. âYou know, thatâs not a half-bad idea. Iâve been wound tighter than a clock.â Pieck hesitated, then nodded. âAlright. But we stick together. No wandering off.â
âPerfect" you said, a real smile touching your lips for the first time all night.
You chose your dress with care. It was a new acquisition, a sinful indulgence from a second-hand shop that specialized in clothes from fallen society girls. Orange-brown silk, shot through with golden threads, beaded with tiny amber crystals. It was a body-con garment that clung to every curve, with a ruffled hem that swished around your mid-thigh. It was not a dress for a lady. It was a dress for a woman who wanted to be looked at. You paired it with silk stockings, T-strap heels, and left your hair down in loose waves.
You looked like a sunset distilled into a woman.
The Sapphire Room was a different from The Pixis. It was bigger, brighter, bawdier. The air vibrated with the blare of trumpets and the pounding beat of a full swing band on a raised platform. The dance floor was a swirling mass of bodies, men in suits, women in fringe and sequins, all moving in a frantic, joyful release.
You lost Sadie and Pieck to the throng almost immediately, swallowed up by eager partners. So much for Piecks plan, but you didnât mind. You let the music get inside you, let it move your hips, your shoulders. A man in a pinstripe suit appeared in front of you, his face flushed with drink and good cheer. He didnât ask, just grabbed your hand and pulled you into the whirl."Let's go pretty lady."
You laughed, letting him spin you. The dress swirled around, the beads catching the light. It felt good to move without a microphone in your hand, to be just another body in the crowd. Another man cut in, then another. You became a prize to be passed around the floor, a flash of orange-brown silk in the sea of black and navy. You smiled, you danced, you let their hands settle on your waist, your back.
You were spinning away from the third man feeling a bit dizzy and breathless, when you collided with a chest that you had come to recognize along with his scent.
Sandwood. Old books. Rain. And underneath it all, something metallic.
Your hands came up, palms flattening against the fine wool of his jacket. You looked up.
Eren. His green eyes were like chips of stained glass under the spinning lights. He wasnât smiling fully, just a little smirk. His expression was intense, focused solely on you. âFancy meeting you here,â you said, your voice coming out a little breathy.
âI go where the music is,â he said, his voice low enough that you had to lean in to hear it over the band. His hands came to rest on your hips, his fingers spanning the curve of them through the silk. They were warm. Almost hot and it was making you feel hot too. âAnd I had a feeling youâd be where the music is.â
âYou followed me,â you said.
âI was in the neighborhood,â he said, a ghost of a smile finally touching his mouth. âSaw you through the window. Couldnât help myself.â
The song shifted to something slower, a bluesy number with a sensual beat. The dancers around you melted into closer embraces. Eren didnât ask. He simply pulled you against him, one hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you flush to his body. You could feel every hard plane of him. Your breasts were crushed against his chest, your stomach against his. Your head fit perfectly under his chin.
âThis is dangerous,â you murmured into his collar. You could smell his skin and oh how it feels like you feel under a spell.
âI know,â he breathed into your hair. âI donât see you moving away though, huh?"
You started to move with him. He was a good dancer, leading with subtle shifts of his body. You let him guide you, your bodies swaying as one unit. His hand on your back crept lower, one singular finger going agonizinly slow down your back before he rested his whole hand on the swell of your backside. A shiver racked your entire body. You turned your head, so your lips were near his ear.
âPeople are watching,â you whispered.
âLet them,â he whispered back. His breath was warm against your ear.
If he was gonna be bold, so could you. You turned in his arms so your back was to his chest. His arms wrapped around you, crossing over your stomach, holding you tight against him. You could feel his form against the base of your spine. A soft moan crawling its way out your throat.
âYeah,â he groaned softly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. âYou feel that don't you? Thatâs all for you. Has been for months.â
You arched your back, pressing yourself more firmly against him. His arms tightened. One of his hands slid up from your stomach, over the silk covering your ribs, stopping just shy of your breast. His thumb stroked the underside of the curve through the fabric. Your breath hitched.
âErenâŚâ
âTell me to be a gentleman and Iâll take my hands off you. Iâll walk you back to your friends and say goodnight.â
You didnât say a word. You turned your head, catching his gaze over your shoulder. You let him see the want in your eyes, the raw, unguarded hunger. Youâd hidden it for weeks, but you didnât hide it now.
His hand finally closed over your breast, palming it fully. The silk of the dress did nothing against his touch. You could feel the heat of his hand, the slight roughness of his palm. He squeezed, gently at first, then with more pressure. "Shit..." You closed your eyes and moaned just a bit into his ear. Your nipple that he had been twisting was now peaking painfully against the fabric, and you bit your lip to stifle a much louder moan from the sight.
His other hand slid down from your stomach, over the front of your dress, his fingertips pressing against the silk covering your mound. You gasped, your head falling back against his shoulder. The music was still pounding, people were still dancing all around you, but the world had narrowed to the space where his body met yours.
âWe need to leave,â Eren whispered into your ear. His voice was ragged. âRight fucking now.â
You nodded, unable to form words. His hand left your breast, grabbed your hand, and he was pulling you through the crowd. You followed, your legs shaky, your core throbbing with every step. You caught a glimpse of Sadieâs surprised face as you passed, but you didnât stop. You pushed through the packed bodies, past the bar, and out into the night.
The street was quieter, the jazz a muffled thump behind the closed doors. You were both breathing hard, clouds of vapor forming and vanishing in the lamplight. He still had your hand in a tight grip.
He led you down the block to where a beautiful black Packard was parked, its long hood gleaming under a streetlamp. It looked expensive, that must come with being rich. He opened the passenger door for you and you slid in, the smooth leather of the seat cool against your bare thighs where the dress had ridden up. He closed the door, walked around the front with quick, long strides, and got in behind the wheel. The engine growled to life with a turn of the key.
He drove fast, his eyes on the road. You watched his profile, the way his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. You reached over, tentatively, and placed your hand on his thigh, massaging it a bit. The muscle there was taut as a steel cable. He glanced at you, his green eyes glowing in the dark of the car.
âIf you keep touching me, Iâm going to wreck this car,â he said, his voice tight.
âThen pull over,â you heard yourself say. The words were out before you could think them through.
A low sound came from his throat, almost a snarl. âNot a chance.â
He kept driving, leaving the bright lights and crowded streets of the city center behind. The buildings grew farther apart, giving way to larger estates shrouded in trees. Finally, he turned onto a long, private drive lined with old, gnarled oaks. At the end of it stood his house.
It was exactly as youâd pictured in your wildest, darkest imaginings. A tall structure of blackened brick, all sharp angles and pointed arches. Gothic spires clawed at the night sky. It was beautiful in a way that made your stomach flip, like looking at a sharp knife. He parked in front of the heavy wooden door and killed the engine.
He got out, came around, and opened your door. You took his offered hand and stepped out, your heels sinking into the gravel. He didnât let go of your hand. He led you up the wide stone steps to the door, unlocked it with an old, ornate key, and pushed it open.
Inside, it was dark and cavernous. The air was cool, smelled of old stone. He flicked a switch, and a chandelier high above sputtered to life, casting a dim, wavering light over a grand foyer. A wide staircase curved upwards into shadows.
âWould you like a drink?â he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. He was still playing the part of the host, but the act was paper-thin. You could see the tension in every line of his body, the barely-restrained need.
You shook your head. You were done with pretending. You turned to face him, reached up, grabbed his face, pulling his mouth down to yours.
His lips were soft, just like you remembered from the touch on your glove, but they moved against yours with a hunger. You opened your mouth to him and his tongue plunged inside, tasting of whiskey and something awfully metallic. You moaned into his mouth, your hands sliding from his jacket to tangle in his hair. It was as soft as it looked.
He walked you backward, his mouth never leaving yours, until your back hit the cold stone wall next to the staircase. The impact jarred you so much you broke the kiss for a second. You were both panting. His eyes were wild, his pupils blown wide, leaving only a thin ring of green and a string of saliva connecting both of your tongues.
âUpstairs,â he managed to say. âNow.â
You didnât need telling twice. You took the stairs two at a time, him right behind you, his hand on the small of your back as if he was afraid youâd vanish. The hallway upstairs was dark, but he seemed to know exactly where he was going. He pushed open a heavy door and pulled you inside his bedroom.
It was large, dominated by an enormous four-poster bed with dark velvet hangings. A fireplace held cold ashes. Books were piled on every available surface. Moonlight streamed in through a tall, narrow window.
The door clicked shut behind you. You were on him again in an instant, kissing him roughly, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor. Your hands went to the buttons of his waistcoat, fumbling in your haste. He helped you, tearing it open, sending buttons pinging across the wooden floor. His shirt followed, ripped open down the front. You ran your hands over his chest. His skin was pale, almost luminous in the moonlight, stretched tight over hard muscle. He was perfect.
You kissed him again, your tongue sweeping into his mouth. And thatâs when you felt them. The sharp points.
You froze. Your tongue had glided right over them. Two elongated canines, sharp as needles.
You pulled back, breaking the kiss with a wet sound. Your eyes flew open. You stared at his mouth. His lips were red and wet from your kiss. He wasnât smiling. He was watching you, his expression unreadable.
âErenâŚâ you whispered.
His eyes began to shine. Not a trick of the light. They literally glowed from within, a eerie emerald light. âSurprise,â he said, his voice a low rasp.
Before you could react, he moved. It was too fast for a human. One second he was in front of you, the next you were on your back on the giant bed, the velvet covers soft beneath you. He was on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head with one large hand. His weight was immense.
He lowered his head to your neck. You felt the warm puff of his breath against your skin. He inhaled deeply, his nose tracing the line of your jugular. Something had been bugging you ever since you met him. He was always so gentle yet so mysterious. Mostly out at night.
âI knew it,â you breathed, more to yourself than to him.
âKnew what?â he murmured against your skin. His lips brushed the frantic pulse there.
âThat you were different. Dangerous.â
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. âDangerous is one word for it.â He licked a stripe up your neck, from your collarbone to your ear. You gasped. His tongue felt like fire. âYouâre different too, you know. From the others.â
âOthers?â You tried to twist, but he held you easily.
âThe women,â he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. His mouth was right by your ear. âThe ones who go missing. The papers have it all wrong. Itâs not a man with a knife. Itâs a man with fangs.â He kissed just below your earlobe. âMost of them⌠theyâre just food. A quick drink in an alley, a body dumped in the river. Easy. Forgettable.â
His free hand came up and cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. His glowing eyes were terrifying, beautiful. âBut you⌠I saw you that first night. On that stage. You shone. Like a fucking beacon. I couldnât just take you. I had to have you. All of you.â
His confession should have horrified you. It shocked you. But it also sent a flood of heat straight to your core. You were wet, so wet you could feel it soaking through your silk panties. The monster had chosen you. Not to kill quickly, but to⌠to what?
âMy latest prey,â he whispered, nuzzling your neck again. âBut I donât want to just drain you dry. Not yet. I want to taste you. I want to fuck you while I drink from you. I want to feel you cum on my cock while your blood is on my tongue.â
The filthiness of his words, the raw, graphic hunger in them, made you whimper. Your hips bucked up against him involuntarily. You felt it, his erect dick, still confined in his trousers, press against your center.
âYou want that too,â he observed, his voice smug. âI can smell it on you. The fear⌠and the want. Theyâre mixing together. Itâs intoxicating.â
He shifted his weight, releasing your wrists. Before you could move, his hands were on the straps of your dress. He pulled them down your arms in one rough motion, baring your torso to the waist. The beaded silk pooled around your hips. The cold air hit your skin, making your nipples harden instantly. He stared down at your breasts, his glowing eyes full of a reverence that was completely at odds with the things heâd just said.
âSo beautiful,â he murmured. He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth.
You cried out, arching off the bed. His mouth was hot, his tongue rough as it lashed over the sensitive peak. He sucked, hard, drawing the flesh deep into his mouth, his fangs scraping delicately against the areola. The combination of him being a threat and searing pleasure was dizzying. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same torturous attention, biting and sucking until you were squirming beneath him, your fingers clutching at the velvet bedspread.
âPlease,â you heard yourself beg.
He lifted his head. His lips and chin were slick with your scent, with his saliva. âPlease what?â His hand slid down your stomach, over the silk of your dress bunched at your hips, and cupped your covered up pussy between your legs. You gasped, your eyes rolling back. He pressed the heel of his hand against your clothed clit. âTell me what you want, sweetheart."
âI want you to bite me,â you blurted out.
His eyes flashed brighter. âYeah?â
âYes. Do it.â
A grin spread across his face. âOfcourse, sweetheart.â
He dove for your neck again. This time, there was no preamble. You felt the piercing pain, twin points of exquisite pressure breaking your skin. You gasped so hard it felt like the air was caught in your throat. For a second, it was just pain.
Then it changed.
A wave of pure pleasure washed over you, so intense it bordered on pain itself. It started at the point where his fangs were buried in your flesh and radiated outward, a molten heat that flooded your veins, pooled in your belly, made your toes curl. Your back arched violently off the bed. A long, broken moan was torn from your throat.
He groaned against your neck, the sound vibrating through out your entire body. He was drinking, swallowing, his throat working. And with each pull, another wave of that impossible pleasure crashed through you. It was an aphrodisiac. Ofcourse. Your mind went blank, white noise and fireworks. You were grinding yourself against his hand, which was still pressed against you, desperate for more friction.
âFuck,â he snarled, pulling his mouth from your neck with a wet pop. Blood, your blood, smeared his lips, dripped down his chin. His eyes were blazing. âYou taste⌠fuck.â
He kissed you, hard. You could taste your own blood on his tongue. It should have been disgusting. It was the most erotic thing youâd ever experienced. You kissed him back greedily, sucking on his tongue, licking the blood from his lips.
He broke the kiss, breathing raggedly. âYouâre mine now,â he said, his voice guttural. âYou understand that, don't you?"
In that moment, swimming in the haze of blood-loss euphoria and lust, you didnât care. âYes,â you panted.
He finally moved his hand from between your legs to yank at your dress, pulling it and your stockings down your hips and legs in one frantic motion. He tossed them off the side of the bed. You were left in just your silk panties, which were soaked through, a dark patch visible even in the dim light. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and ripped them off you, the sound of tearing silk loud in the room.
They were one of your good pairs but you didn't give a shit right now.
He stared down at your naked body with a ravenous gaze. He leaned down and kissed your stomach, licking a path between your legs. You tensed, expecting his mouth on your dripping, plump cunt, but he didnât stop. He kissed the inside of your thigh, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin, then bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make you jump and cry out.
âSo responsive,â he muttered against your flesh. His fingers moving slowly against your dripping folds. His fingers moved slowly against your dripping folds. They traced the outer lips, slick with your wetness, the pads of his fingers barely touching you. He was mocking you. Drawing out the moment, making you wait. You whimpered, lifting your hips off the bed in a silent plea for more pressure.
"None of that," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against the skin of your thigh. He pressed a kiss to the bite mark he'd left there, then returned his attention between your legs. His fingers continued their maddening exploration, sliding up and down your slit, gathering wetness, but avoiding the spot that ached for him. He parted your lips with two fingers, exposing the glistening, flushed pink flesh within. Your pussy was swollen, the hood of your clit visible and sensitive to the cool air. You were completely bare, having learned long ago that hair could complicate things, could hold a scent you didn't want lingering.
He blew a cool stream of air across your exposed core. You shuddered, a full-body twitch that made the velvet covers rustle. "Fuck, Eren, please," you begged, your voice cracking.
"Please what?" he asked, his tone conversational, as if he were asking about the weather. He dragged a single fingertip from the bottom of your slit all the way to the top, circling your clit once, so lightly it was torture. "You have to use your words."
"Touch me. Fucking touch me properly."
He chuckled. "As you wish."
His middle finger dipped inside you, just the tip, breaching your entrance. You gasped. Your inner walls clenched around nothing, desperate for more. He withdrew it, then pushed back in, a little deeper this time. In, out. A shallow, teasing penetration. You could feel the drag of his finger, the wet sounds it made. "Yeah, moan just like that." He added a second finger, stretching you slightly. The stretch was good, but it wasn't enough. He kept the pace slow.
He was doing this on purpose.
"Look at you," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "So wet. So needy. I've barely touched you and you're soaking my hand."
You turned your head to the side, embarrassed by how exposed you were, how desperate. But he wasn't having it. His free hand came up, grabbed your chin, forced you to look down at him. His eyes were still glowing, that eerie green light making him look otherworldly. "Watch," he commanded.
You obeyed. You watched as his fingers disappeared inside you, then reappeared, coated in your slick. "Aghh, fuck yes, yes." He pumped them in deeper, curling them slightly. When he found that spot inside you, that bundle of nerves that made stars burst behind your eyelids, you cried out. Your back arched, your hands fisted in the velvet. "AAGH!"
"There it is," he said with a grin. He stroked that spot again, and again, his fingers moving faster now. The wet sounds grew louder, obscene in the otherwise silent room. Your thighs began to tremble. He added a third finger, stretching you wider, filling you more. The sensation was overwhelming. His thumb found your clit, pressed down on it in small circles, so much so you could feel the roughness of his finger going over your clit before getting slicked with your wetness.
"Oh god, oh fuck, yeesss" you panted. Your hips were moving of their own accord now, grinding down onto his hand, meeting each thrust of his fingers. The pleasure was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach. He was watching you with rapt attention, his mouth slightly open, his fangs visible. He licked his lips at the sight of you.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Ride my fingers. Take what you need. Don't stop till you had your fill."
His fingers moved faster, harder. The sound of your wetness was filthy. You could feel it running down, wetting the sheets beneath you. It was making you dizzy. "Oh yes. Oh fuck yes!" His thumb rubbed your clit in tight, fast circles. The combination was too much. You felt the orgasm building, felt it racing toward you like a train. Your inner walls started to flutter around his fingers.
"Eren, I'm-I'm gonna-"
"Come on, songbird" he growled. "Cum on my hand. Let me see you clench around these fingers."
You shattered. The orgasm ripped through you with such intensity that you screamed. "Eren aghhh!" Your body convulsed, your pussy clenching around his fingers, gripping them tight, just like he asked. But, he didn't stop. He kept pumping them in and out, kept circling your clit, drawing out your climax until you were sobbing, tears streaming down your face from the intensity. He was such a bastard. And that turned you on even more. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, each one leaving you more wrecked than the last. "Shit, baby yes."
Finally, it subsided. Your body went limp, boneless against the bed. He withdrew his fingers slowly. You felt empty without them. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought his hand up to his face. His fingers were glistening, dripping with your release. He held your gaze as he slipped them into his mouth, one by one, sucking them clean. His eyes fluttered closed, and he moaned like he was tasting the finest wine.
"Fucking delicious," he murmured when he'd licked every trace of you from his skin.
Something in you shifted. The post-orgasmic bliss began to fade, replaced by a different kind of hunger. You sat up slowly, your breast exposed to the firelight as you sat up straight. Eren watched them move for a second before he locked his eyes on yours again. Curiosity began to flicker in his glowing eyes. You crawled toward him on your hands and knees across the bed. He was still mostly dressed, his shirt torn open, his trousers tented obscenely at the front. You straddled him, settling your bare, wet pussy against the bulge in his pants.
He hissed, his hands coming to your hips, massaging them tenderly. "What are you doing?"
You didn't answer. You started to move, rolling your hips, grinding yourself against him. Even through the fabric, you could feel how hard he was, how big. The friction against your sensitive clit made you gasp and lean your head back for a moment. "Oh fuck," You braced your hands on his shoulders and moved faster, chasing another high.
Your folds gliding across the fabric making it wetter and wetter. It was so erotic and addicting to look at, you even brought your fingers to your mouth, coating them in saliva, before bringing them down to rub at your clit.
"Fuck," he breathed, his grip on your hips tightening. He was watching your face, watching the way your mouth fell open, the way your eyes glazed over. You leaned forward, bringing your face to his neck. You inhaled deeply. He smelled incredible. That sandwood and something like coffee, but underneath it, something richer. Copper.
Blood.
You licked a stripe up the column of his throat. His pulse was there, fast beneath his pale skin. You opened your mouth and let your teeth glid across his neck for a moment. "You smell so good, Eren." He groaned, his hips bucking up against you. As you did the same letting out a moan right next to his ear. You took your hand and brought it to the other side of his neck, whispering again.
"I'm a bit thirsty too."
You bit down, not hard enough to break skin. Not yet. You sucked at the spot, leaving a mark. Then you opened your mouth wider, positioned your teeth right between his shoulder and neck, and bit down hard.
Your fangs sank into his flesh with ease.
Eren went rigid beneath you. His entire body locked up. "What the, oh fuck!" He was stunned to say the least. He couldn't stop himself from bucking up into you harder. Grabbing at your backside and spreading it as you drank his blood.
Its been a while since you had blood like this. This rich, this delectable, this addicting. "Mmm."
You pulled back slightly, blood flooding your mouth. His blood. You swallowed, then slowly licked the puncture wounds, feeling them begin to close already. You smiled down at him with a wicked grin. You knew what you must look like. Your bottom lip smeared with his blood, your eyes probably glowing now too, that telltale amber light that came with feeding.
"Surprise," you said, throwing his own word back at him.
His eyes were wide, shocked. His mouth opened and closed, no words coming out. You could see his mind working, trying to process what had just happened. You ground down on him again, reminding him of where you were, what you were doing.
"There is no way" he finally managed.
"A girl has to wat right?" you said. You leaned down, licked another stripe up his neck, tasting the remnants of his blood on his skin. "Did you really think you were the only monster in this city?"
"The missing people," he said, the pieces clicking into place. He didn't look scared or angry, he looked impressed and turned on. "You're the one thats been killing recently,huh?"
"Mhm," you confirmed. You sat back, still straddling him, still moving your hips in lazy circles. You could feel your cunt gripping at nothing. "The men mostly. And some women that piss me off. " You tilted your head, regarding him with amusement. "That night you found me, when I was running? I knew there was someone there." You ground down on him harder, causing him to moan and smack your ass in return. You moaned before speaking again, keeping your hips grinding against his clothed cock.
"I knew. I knew some bad man was chasing me. I made my prey think I was helpless. Works every time. They always want to play hero, but then you showed up and interrupted my meal."
"Jesus Christ," he muttered.
"Not quite," you said with a laugh. You reached between your bodies, started unbuttoning his trousers. "You wanted to eat me. I'm here now." You looked deep into his eyes as you brought your thumb to your lips to wipe his blood off and brought it to his plump pink lips.
He smiled before taking your thumb into his mouth and sucking the blood, his blood off of it. You leaned down and whispered. "Undo me, Eren."
Something snapped in him. You saw it happen, saw the shock morph into something hungrier. His hands went from your hips to your ass, gripping hard enough to bruise. "You're fucking insane," he said.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Not at all, sweetheart. Its hot as hell."
You freed him from his trousers, pulling his cock out. It sprang up between you. A nude pink at the tip. It was beautiful. Long, with veins running along the shaft, a slight curve that you knew would hit all the right spots. Precum was already beading at the slit. You wrapped your hand around it, gave it a slow stroke, It was so damn hard, not to jump on his cock right now. He was hot in your palm, rock hard. He groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. "Mmmm fuck baby."
"You've been thinking about this," you said, stroking him again. "Haven't you? All those nights watching me sing. You were thinking about fucking me." You were teasing, licking up the side of his dick for a moment.
"Every goddamn night," he admitted through gritted teeth. "I'd go home and jerk off thinking about you. About bending you over that piano. About making you scream my name." Oh, he was obsessed. You loved the kind of man who could only see you, it made you clench again.
"Dirty boy," you purred. You ground your wet pussy against his cock, coating him in your slick wetness. The head of his dick bumped against your clit and you moaned. "I want to...fuck you so bad right now." You were so wet, so ready. You could just sink down on him right now, take him all the way inside. But you wanted to draw this out. Wanted to make him suffer the way he'd made you suffer.
You kissed him, pushing your tounge into his mouth and just exploring. He kissed you back just as roughly, his hands roaming your body, squeezing your ass, your breasts, your waist as you continued to slid your wet fold on his dick. "Mmm!" He moaned against your mouth as he slapped your ass. You bit his bottom lip, drawing blood before sucking on it and catching his eyes. "You taste so good, Eren." He growled into your mouth, retaliating by biting yours. The pain was exquisite.
You both took turns sucking on tounges, or biting lips as your hands traveled over eachkthers bodies. Everything about it was just invigorating.
You pulled back, breathless. You looked down at him. His hair was a mess, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen and bloody. He looked completely debauched and you loved it. "I want to taste you."
Before he could respond, you slid off him, off the bed. Your knees hit the floor, the plush carpet soft beneath them. The fireplace across the room had ignited somehow during your activities, maybe Eren had done it, or maybe it was just the heat between you both, and firelight danced across your skin, painting you in shades of orange and gold.
Eren sat up, moved to the edge of the bed. His legs spread, his cock jutting up between them, still hard and leaking. You settled between his thighs, looking up at him with those doe eyes you use. "You want me to put this dick in my mouth?" His eyes were locked on yours, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. "Yeah...suck my dick, sweetheart."
You leaned forward, licked the underside of his cock from base to tip. He tasted like musk and skin, it left you even more wet, your wetness soaking the carpet. He hissed, his hands fisting in the sheets. You did it again, slower this time, tracing the thick vein with your tongue. Then you took the head into your mouth, sucking gently.
"Oh fuck," he groaned.
You hummed around him, the vibration making him twitch. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, creating suction. You could only fit about half of him in your mouth before he hit the back of your throat. You pulled back, took a breath, then went down again, trying to take more. Saliva pooled in your mouth, dripping down his shaft, making everything slick and messy.
You pulled off with a wet pop, looked up at him. His eyes were glowing brighter now, his fangs fully extended. He looked feral. You smiled, then spit on his cock. The glob of saliva slid down his length. You wrapped both hands around him, started stroking him, using your spit as lubricant. You twisted your wrists with each upstroke, paid special attention to the head, rubbing your thumb over the sensitive spot just beneath it.
"Goddamn," he panted. His hips were moving now, fucking up into your hands. "That mouth. Fuck."
You leaned down, took one of his balls into your mouth, sucking gently while your hands continued their work on his cock. He groaned, one of his hands coming down to tangle in your hair. Not pulling, just holding. Grounding himself. You switched to the other one, gave it the same treatment, then licked your way back up his shaft.
This time when you took him in your mouth, you didn't hold back. You relaxed your throat, pushed past your gag reflex, and took him all the way down. Your nose pressed against the coarse hair at his base. You held there for a moment, swallowing around him, feeling him pulse in your throat. Then you pulled back, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock.
You did it again. And again. Each time taking him deep, each time coming up gasping and drooling. Your eyes were watering, your jaw aching, but you didn't care. You loved the way he fell apart, the way his thighs trembled, the way he moaned your name like a prayer.
"I'm close," he warned, his voice strained. "If you don't want me to come in your mouth, you better-"
You took him deep again, sucked hard, and felt him explode. His cock pulsed, hot ropes of cum shooting down your throat. You swallowed it all, kept sucking, milking him through his orgasm. He was moaning, a long, low sound that vibrated through the room. When he finally stopped, you pulled off, licked him clean, then sat back on your heels.
He was staring at you like you'd just performed a miracle. His chest was heaving, his skin flushed. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning up at him.
"Holy shit," he breathed.
You stood up, but before you could say anything, he was on you. He moved with vampire speed, grabbing you, lifting you. Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically as you yelped in surprise. "Oh you're eag-" He kissed you, hard, cutting you off. You could taste yourself on his tongue, just as he could taste himself on yours. His cock, still hard despite having just cum, pressed against your entrance. "Mmmm, holy..shit!"
You ground down against him, coating him in your wetness again. "Its not even in me yet and I want to cum." The stimulation made you both moan into each other's mouths. He walked you backward, then sideways, navigating the room by memory. Then you were falling. Your back hit the bed, the velvet covers soft beneath your skin. He came down on top of you as his weight pinned you down.
He reached between your bodies, grabbed his cock, positioned it at your entrance. You felt the blunt head pressing against you, beginning to stretch you open. Your breath caught. "You got it baby. Deep breathes." He pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch was intense. He was bigger than his fingers, thicker, and you felt every bit of him as he filled you. "Aaagghhhh fuuuuuck!"
"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned. "So fucking tight."
You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "Don't stop," you panted. "Don't you dare fucking stop."
He bottomed out, his hips flush against yours. You were completely full, stretched to your limit. "AAGGHH YES!" He stayed there for a moment, letting you adjust. You could feel him pulsing inside you, could feel your walls clenching around him. Then he pulled back, almost all the way out, and slammed back in.
You screamed. The pleasure was blinding. He set a brutal pace, pounding into you with abandon. The bed shook with each thrust, the headboard slamming against the wall. The sounds were obscene and so fucking good all at the same time. Skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your pussy taking his cock in further into your gummy walls, both of your moans and gasps.
"Yeah, little songbird. Sing for me."
He grabbed your wrists, pinned them above your head with one hand. His other hand went to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there. His hips pistoned, driving into you over and over and over again. Each thrust hit that spot inside you, that sweet spot that made you see stars, made your mind go blank, made you shiver and tremble.
"That's it," he growled. "Take it. Take my cock."
"R-right..there!"
He obliged. His grip on your wrists tightened, his hand on your throat squeezed slightly, cutting off just enough air to make your head spin. He fucked you like he hasn't fucked in decades, each thrust driving you up the bed and the headboard intk the wall. You were going to come again. You could feel it building, faster this time, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter.
"Come oooooonnn," he urged. "Cum on my cock. Let me feel that pussy, baby."
You came with a shout, your body convulsing beneath him. Your pussy clamped down on his cock, milking him dry, or so you though. Yet again, he didn't stop. He kept fucking you through your orgasm, prolonging it, making it go on and on until you were sobbing. "Eren...baby please- I- I..."
But he wasn't done. Not even close.
He pulled out of you suddenly, flipped you onto your stomach. You were still shaking from your orgasm, but he didn't give you time to recover. He grabbed your hips, pulled them up so your ass was in the air. Then he was inside you again, slamming in from behind.
This angle was even deeper. You buried your face in the pillows, muffling your screams. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks, using them as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with each thrust. He watched as your ass bounced and recoiled with every thrust. The sight was a sight to behold. The sound of his balls slapping against your pussy was loud in the room and was making you wetter every second.
He leaned over you, his chest against your back, his mouth at your ear. "You feel so fucking good," he panted. "So. Fucking. Good. Keep taking this dick."
You turned your head, trying to look at him. He saw the challenge in your eyes and grinned. He slowly pulled out, feeling your tight hole try to cling to it. He smiled before flipping you onto your back again, then drove back inside in a maddening pace. This time he hooked your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. The new angle made him hit even deeper, made you feel impossibly full.
"Look at you," he said, his voice rough. "Look at you taking my dick. Fuck, you're beautiful like this."
You were drooling, you realized. Couldn't help it. The pleasure was too much, your mind had gone blank. All you could focus on was the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, ruining you. Your eyes were glowing, you knew. That amber light that came when you were feeding or feeling intense emotion.
Eren noticed. His grin turned predatory. He leaned down, his hair falling into his face, creating a curtain around both of you. "There she is," he murmured.
He bit into your neck again, in the same spot as before. You screamed, the combination of his fangs in your flesh and his cock in your pussy sending you into another orgasm. This one was different, more intense, bordering on painful. Your entire body seized up, every muscle locking. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
He drank from you as he fucked you, swallowing mouthfuls of your blood. The aphrodisiac effect worked both ways. You could feel it flooding through him, making him harder, making him fuck you with renewed vigor. His thrusts became erratic, losing their rhythm.
He pulled his mouth from your neck, blood dripping from his fangs. "Whose pussy is this?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.
"Yours," you gasped.
"Say it again."
"It's yours, Eren. My pu- pussy is yours!"
"Mhmmm."
He changed the angle again, somehow finding a way to go even deeper. His balls slapped against you with every thrust, the sound vulgar and perfect. He reached between your bodies, found your clit, rubbed it in fast circles with two fingers as he pressed down. You were going to cum again. How many times was this now? You'd lost count.
"Sing for me," he commanded. "Sing like you do at that lounge. Let me hear that pretty voice scream."
You did. You screamed his name as another orgasm tore through you. "Errreeeennn!" You screamed until your voice went hoarse, until your throat was raw. He kept fucking you through it, kept rubbing your clit, drawing it out until you were thrashing beneath him, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation.
"Don't run from it," he growled, holding you in place. "Stay right here. Let me keep fucking this pussy."
You were crying now, tears streaming down your face. It was too much. Too good. Your body didn't know whether to chase the pleasure or flee from it. "I can't," you sobbed. "I can't take anymore." You were thrashing a bit, your heels digging deeper into the bed.
"Yes you can, sweetheart" he said firmly. "You can take it. You're going to take everything I give you."
He shifted again, pulling your legs off his shoulders, pushing them wide, opening you up even more. He leaned over you, his face inches from yours, his hair creating that curtain again. His hips snapped forward, each thrust making your whole body jolt.
"Look at you taking this dick," he said, his voice full of wonder and lust. "Fuck, baby. You're sucking me in like this and you wanted me to stop?" He started moving faster and faster as you leaned your head back and screamed his name. "Eren fuuuuuuuccckkk!"
He smiled and laughed as he began to get louder. "Yeah baby, sing for me."
He sat up slightly, grabbed your hips, and really let loose. He pounded into you with everything he had, the bed shaking so hard you thought it might break. Your breasts bounced with each impact, and he couldn't seem to look away from them. He leaned down, took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard you though he might draw a bit of blood. You arched into him, your hands flying to his hair, holding him against you. "Yes, aghh baby please."
He bit down on your nipple, his fangs piercing the sensitive flesh. You screamed again, the pain mixing with pleasure in a way that shouldn't make sense but did. "Yes, yes, yes!" He drank from you there too, just a few mouthfuls, then moved to the other breast, gave it the same treatment. You were covered in bite marks now, marks that would heal by tomorrow but for now made you look thoroughly claimed.
"I'm close," he grunted, his rhythm stuttering. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum." You could feel him rearranging your insides as your drool trailed down the side of your mouth towards your scalp. "I..I..I..."
He held your waist, his fingers making mark in your skin as he leaned down towards your ear, his breath tickling your skin. "Use those words, sweetheart." You swallowed as he continued to pound deeper and deeper into to your aching cunt. "Cum..inside..."
"Yeah, you want me to fill you up, watch my cum eack out your wet pussy, huh?" You didn't say anything, couldn't do anything but moan and gasp. That seemed to make him want to go harder. As he drove into you faster, your vison became hazy.
Your brain was nothing but fog.
You've never felt anything like this in your life. He grabbed your chin, licking away your drool before whispering against your lips, "I said use your words, songbird. You want me to cum inside your cunt?"
You somehow found your voice, even if it was small. "Yes." He smiled against your lips as he moved faster, his balls slapping against your in-between your legs. You were crying getting louder as he reached into the deepest part of you, making you jolt a bit in the air. "Holy fuck yes!"
That pushed him over the edge. He slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and came with a loud moan of his own. You felt him pulsing inside you, felt the hot flood of his release coating your walls. It triggered one more orgasm in you, smaller but no less intense. You clenched around him, milking every last drop from his cock.
He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting, covered in sweat and blood and other fluids. Your heart was racing, your body completely spent. He was still inside you, softening slowly. You didn't want him to pull out yet. You wanted to stay connected like this, joined together.
Eventually, he rolled off you, pulling out with a wet sound. You both hissed at the loss. You laid there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. Your thighs were trembling, your pussy was sore and used, it would heal soon but, damn. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, running down the inside of your thighs and onto the bed.
Eren propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you. He reached between your legs, gathered some of his release on his fingers, making you jolt a bjt as his finger tips brushed across your clit.. Then he brought them to your lips. Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, sucked his fingers clean. The taste was salty, bitter, but nonetheless delicious. You licked between his fingers, making sure you got every drop and making sure you kept your eyes locked on his.
"Jesus," he muttered, watching you with dark eyes.
You released his fingers, smiled up at him. For a long moment, you both just looked at each other. Your glows were fading now, eyes returning to their normal colors. The room was a mess. The sheets were soaked with various fluids, pillows scattered across the floor, the headboard had left dents in the wall. You both looked like you'd been through a war.
It sure as hell felt like it.
After a few minutes, you found your voice again. Stronger than the last time. You looked over at him, your hair laid out on the mattress below as you spoke. "How long have you been a vampire?"
He laughed. He flopped onto his back beside you with a grunt as he sighed and put a hand under his head, looking up at the ceiling as the light from the fireplace made weird shadows. "About sixty years." His head turned to look at you as he spoke in a whisper now. "And what about you?"
"Seventy-three," you said. "Turned in 1857."
"1867," he confirmed. He turned his head to look at the ceiling again before looking at you once more. "And you've been hunting in this city how long?"
"Two years," you said. "Yo-"
"Three."
You chuckled at that and placed yohr hand on your chest before letting out a sigh. "And we never crossed paths until six months ago."
"Funny how that works." He laughed just the same. You both laid there silently listening to the wood in the fireplace burn as you were trying to catch up. You turned onto your side, your hair falling to the side of your face and tilted your head ever so slightly. He mirrored your position. You reached out, traced a finger down his chest, following the drying blood smears. "What now?" you asked.
He caught your soft hand in his, brought it to his beautiful pink lips, and kissed your palm. "Now I think we might have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
His green eyes met yours, and something in them made your breath catch. "I don't think I can let you go." You sat there stunned for a while before sitting up and over him, letting your hair fall over both of your faces. You whispered with a smile.
summary: on the rare occasion that sukuna takes his nephew out to the park, he notices another kid with blush pink hairâ a baby to be exact. he tries not to stare too much, but itâs hard not to, itâs a rare hair color. itâs not until the babyâs mother takes her out of the swing set and back into her stroller when he realizes why you ghosted him almost 2 years ago.
genre/warnings: hidden child trope, ex-fwb to co-parents to lovers, angst (toxic relationships, fighting), fluff, smut, mood board
notes: im very excited to announce this upcoming one-shot as a part of @indiewritesxoxo friday night flicks event! the release date is still tba and im limiting the tag list to 50, but iâll definitely be giving updates throughout the writing process â¤ď¸
taglist is now closed
part one
part two
part three
part four
part five
part six deep dives 1-6
part seven
part eight
All rights reserved Š 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.
summary: on the rare occasion that sukuna takes his nephew out to the park, he notices another kid with blush pink hairâ a baby to be exact. he tries not to stare too much, but itâs hard not to, itâs a rare hair color. itâs not until the babyâs mother takes her out of the swing set and back into her stroller when he realizes why you ghosted him almost 2 years ago.
genre/warnings: hidden child trope, ex-fwb to co-parents to lovers, angst (toxic relationships, fighting), fluff, smut, mood board
notes: im very excited to announce this upcoming one-shot as a part of @indiewritesxoxo friday night flicks event! the release date is still tba and im limiting the tag list to 50, but iâll definitely be giving updates throughout the writing process â¤ď¸
taglist is now closed
part one
part two
part three
part four
part five
part six deep dives 1-6
part seven
part eight
All rights reserved Š 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.
âĽď¸ rugby player sukuna is so in love with his dolly girlfriend
inspiration ęŠ @satorusiito !
ryomen sukuna, the biggest and scariest man on the university's rugby team, is dating one of the sweetest looking thing on campus â you. it's truly a wonder how someone like him even bagged someone like you... but the more people see you two, the more they begin to realise just how smitten this brute is with you.
everyday before his practice sessions, his teammates see him standing with you, burly arms wrapped around your frame as he leaves little pecks all across your face. and you're always seen holding a little flower in your hands, one that sukuna had handpicked from some bush for you just so that he can see that pretty smile of yours â it's become routine at this point.
his backpack has a few keychains that you'd bought for him â mostly my melody ones unsurprisingly, since she's your favourite character. he knows that there are some people who side-eye him for that, curious as to why a guy like him walks around with such cute trickets dangling from his bag. but he couldn't care less. you were so adorably happy when you'd bought them for him and when you'd attached them to his bag, he could never have the heart to ever remove the little accessories.
he adores how pink and cutesy you always look â adorning cute skirts and dresses, nails always done with pretty charms glued to them, and smelling like a whole bakery. he stares at you with the most love-filled eyes known to mankind. it's impossible for him to keep his hands off of you, always finding purchase either on your waist or your buttcheeks. he does also adore teasing you in public, loving how easily flustered you get and how you yell at him like a misbehaved dog. but the smack on your ass is all worth it to him!
he's honestly just turned into a mini you. his clothes all smell like you, sugary and vanilla (though some of them still bear a hint of his own musk). he'll catch himself copying some of the cute phrases you use like 'what the flip?' or 'that's adorbs', saying it with the exact same intonation too. he's even started enjoying the romance animes you've introduced him to, even beginning to suggest shows himself.
sukuna has definitely changed ever since meeting you â going from this hard and brutish man that'd scowl at anyone who looked his way to a man who had softened so much, his teammates and friends finally catch him smile every now and then. of course, he's still rough around the edges, but he's still your dear swine of a boyfriend whom you love to bits!
summary: on the rare occasion that sukuna takes his nephew out to the park, he notices another kid with blush pink hairâ a baby to be exact. he tries not to stare too much, but itâs hard not to, itâs a rare hair color. itâs not until the babyâs mother takes her out of the swing set and back into her stroller when he realizes why you ghosted him almost 2 years ago.
genre/warnings: hidden child trope, ex-fwb to co-parents to lovers, angst (toxic relationships, fighting), fluff, smut, mood board
notes: im very excited to announce this upcoming one-shot as a part of @indiewritesxoxo friday night flicks event! the release date is still tba and im limiting the tag list to 50, but iâll definitely be giving updates throughout the writing process â¤ď¸
taglist is now closed
part one
part two
part three
part four
part five
part six deep dives 1-6
part seven
part eight
All rights reserved Š 2025 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.
Suguru Geto doesnât kiss. Only hits it from the back. Doesnât stay the night. And he definitely doesnât chase. Everything with him is simple and transactionalâ until the new girl at the party rejects him without blinking. Now heâs got something to prove. The only problem? The closer he gets, the harder it is to pretend itâs just a game.
a/n: chococat and frat!geto are both so underrated >:( and the amount of times i accidentally wrote fart instead of frat
(credits to @/VoidBringerr on x for that lucious fanart :P credits to @bhavihelps for the divider :D)
Suguru Geto, vice president of the frat, walked like the world had already signed itself over to him. Girls gravitated toward him like it was instinct. He didnât chase. He didnât try. He didnât need to. They lined up anyway.
Suguru Geto who rolled into lectures twenty minutes lateâthat was if he even showed up at allâand still somehow pulled stellar grades. Suguru Geto who submitted assignments seconds before the deadline, unbothered, unhurried, like time itself would wait for him. Suguru Geto who never really had to work for anything.
Things just came easy to him. Until you.
Shoko introduced you at one of the frats parties.
Youâd been her childhood best friend before your parents moved overseas for work, and when she found out you were coming backâsame college, same cityâshe nearly lost her mind. Promised sheâd show you everything. The best cafĂŠs. The quiet corners of town. And of course, the âhot parties.â
The hot parties were always at the same place.
Infamous brothers. Infamous parties. The kind of place people warned you about and went to anyway. Geto and Gojo at the center of it all, like twin pillars of chaos and charm.
They carried a reputation like cologneâexpensive, heavy, impossible to ignore.
Even you, the new girl, had heard the stories.
Frat boys who only did casual. Hook up, have their fun, and send you home before you could even fully come down from the high of it. Donât linger. Donât catch feelings. It was practically printed in invisible ink on the walls of that house.
And honestly? The rumors didnât bother them. If anything, it saved them the trouble.
Most girls knew exactly what they were walking into. Some even liked it that way. No strings. No expectations. No pretending it was something deeper.
And Suguru was always clear. He didnât chase, he selects.Â
No lingering.
No feelings.
No kissing.
No sleeping over.
Clean lines. Clear rules. Strictly transactional. Mutual pleasure, nothing more.
You walked into the party trying not to look as out of place as you felt.
People moved through the frat house like they owned itâlike theyâd been born under neon lights and bass-boosted speakers. You followed behind Shoko as she pulled you through the crowd, grinning like she was about to present you with a prize.
âSatoru, Suguru!â Shoko called out.
Shoko looked like she had personally delivered a miracle. Her hands in the air around you. Basically like that one picture of Will Smith.
They turned immediately.
âShoko has told me so much about you!â Satoru beamed before pulling you into a hug that was all limbs and spilled alcohol. His drink sloshed onto your top and his shirt. He didnât even care, or didnât notice.
âIâm glad I can finally put a pretty face to the name.â He pulled back, still holding your hand, and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. Surprisingly gentle. Almost princely.
You laughed, easing your hand back. âIâve heard a lot about you too.â
From the side, Suguruâs eyes dragged over youâslow, assessing.
âGood things, I hope?â Satoru grinned. He knew better. Most things people said about him werenât flattering. Just accurate.
âSomething like that.â you smiled, soft and amused.Â
The sound of your laugh did something strange to Suguruâs chest. A small, sharp skip. He frowned internally. That was new. Heâd watched girls strip in front of him without so much as a pulse change. Why did a simple smile from you feel different?
âYou must be Suguru, right?â you turned toward him.
Heâd already been staring. He didnât even pretend otherwise.
âYeah,â he replied smoothly, confidence sliding back into place like it had never left.Â
âItâs nice to meet you.â You said. He stepped forward and pulled you into a hug, hands settling at your waist. Familiar. Controlled. Easy.
âNice to meet you too, pretty girl,â he murmured, shifting so his arm rested around your shoulders afterward, keeping you tucked neatly under his side.
âLetâs get you something to drink.â
The kitchen counter was cluttered with liquor bottles, and red cups stacked in the corner. He grabbed one and started mixing something without asking what you liked. You took the cup when he handed it to you. Your fingers brushing.
âThank you.â It was small. Polite. Not breathless. Not flustered.
He showed you around the house, introducing you to the brothers and the regular girls who might as well have been honorary members at this point. The house was massive, loud, vibrating with music blasted by DJ Yuâa freshman whoâd apparently been given the job mostly to prevent him from launching himself off the roof into the pool and breaking his bones.
You laughed at that. Suguru liked the sound again. Too much. âThank you for the tour, Suguru,â you said eventually, still loosely under his arm.
âWeâre not done yet,â he replied quickly. âHavenât shown you upstairs.â He winked. This was the part where girls usually blushed. Leaned closer. Whispered something suggestive. Begged, even. Insteadâ
âIâm fine.â You stepped away. His arm dropped. The music kept playing. People kept going around him. But something in his head went quiet.
Rejection? That⌠didnât happen.Â
âIâm going to look for Shoko. Thanks for the tour though.â
You waved lightly before heading toward the couch where Shoko sat between Yuki and Satoru. You slipped down next to her, and she draped her arm around your shouldersâthe same place Suguruâs had been moments ago.
He stood there for half a second too long.
Then he followed.
He sat on the armrest of the couch, close enough to still be in your space, but not touching this time. Not claiming.
Something in his ego felt⌠dented. You hadnât blushed. Hadnât hesitated, hadn't chased. You just walked away. A strange feeling settled in his chest. It was small, but sharp. Annoying. His pride stung in a way it never had before. This didnât happen to him. Usually it was easy. A lazy wink. A hand at someoneâs waist. A low comment spoken close enough to feel. Girls were already leaning in, already asking to go upstairs before he even decided if he wanted them.
He didnât chase. He never had to. So why did the thought of you walking away still sit wrong with him? It wasnât about you. It couldnât be. It was just the rejection. He had something to prove something to himself now. He saw you as a challenge.
And Suguru liked winning.
He had been so sure he would win.
There was something in him that needed to prove it â not just to himself, but to his friends too. Even though they hadnât seen him get rejected by you.
Drunk,immature, and his ego bruised in a way heâd never experienced before, heâd walked straight over to the other frat brothers â Satoru, Haibara, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna â like it was nothing. Like you were nothing. âI can bag her,â heâd said with a careless laugh. âEven when sheâs being difficult.â
Theyâd teased him, of course. Raised brows. Doubt. Curiosity. Heâd leaned back in his chair, drink in hand, acting like it was already decided.
âI like the challenge,â heâd added. âSheâs my challenge.â
And Suguru had always been the one who could make even the most stubborn girls soften. Fold. Give in. And to him you were certainly one of those.
âËęŠď˝ĄđŐ. .ŐđŚŻâ. đ Ë
Next Friday, he stood near the couch, drink loose in his hand, eyes fixed on the front door more than heâd admit.Â
Waiting for you.
Satoru had insisted on the pajama party. âIntimate,â heâd called it. No one bought it. It was just an excuse to see girls in lace and silk. Satoru looked unfair as usual. Blue plaid pajama pants hanging low, thin white shirt clinging in a way that made people stare too long. He acted oblivious. He wasnât.
Suguru wasnât exactly subtle either.
Grey sweatpants. Black shirt. Sleeves pushed up just enough to expose strong forearms, veins faint but still prominent beneath warm skin. The cotton of his shirt clung lightly to his chest and shoulders, outlining muscle without trying too hard. It stretched when he moved, hinting at the strength underneath.
He looked comfortable. Relaxed.
The sweatpants hung low on his hips, the fabric thin enough to suggest more than it hid. When he shifted his weight or leaned back against the counter, the outline of his bulge noticeable. Not exaggerated. Just there. Impossible to ignore if someone let their eyes wander.
And people were looking. He could feel it. A few girls tried to be subtle. Most werenât. Normally heâd smirk. Maybe lean back a little more. Let them look. Tonight, though, his attention stayed fixed on the door. Until you walked in.
Your eyes met his from across the room before you started walking toward him.
And just like that, something shifted. The air felt heavier. Quieter.
You were wearing a small purple lace and silk sleep dress â delicate straps resting on your shoulders, the fabric catching the light with every step you took. It skimmed your body just enough to leave very little to his imagination.
He loved your outfit.
The way the lace traced your silhouette. The way the silk moved softly against your thighs. The way it looked like it had been made just for you.
Heat pooled low in his stomach before he could stop it. His hand tightened subtly around the cup he was holding, pupils dilating as his gaze dragged â slow, deliberate â from your face down to the hem of your dress and back up again.
But it wasnât just desire. It was the way you walked toward him. Calm. Unhurried. Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.
When you hugged him â when your body pressed against his â he felt exactly how you fit against him. The thin layers of fabric between you did very little to dull the contact. Warm. Close. Distractingly close.
His body went rigid for half a second, hyperaware of every point of contact. The heat pooling low in his stomach felt even heavier, unwelcome in how fast it came.
You pulled away first. His hands lingered at your waist a second too long before dropping. He followed you into the kitchen without thinking about it. âDo you always do this?â you asked, not turning around, focused on pouring yourself a drink.
âDo what?â he replied, leaning back against the counter, palms resting against the edge behind him. Casual. Like he wasnât watching you over the rim of his cup. âFollowing girls around,â you clarified, taking a sip before leaning back as well. Now you were beside him. Close enough that your arms brushed lightly.
He didnât move away. âNo. Just you.â Smooth. Effortless. Delivered like it wasnât a line.
âYouâre so rehearsed,â you snickered into your drink. You barely looked at him. Your attention drifted to the kitchen, the music, the people passing by. You adjusted the hem of your dress. Anything but him.
And that â more than anything â got under his skin. Because he was used to being the center of attention.
He was used to being watched. But you? You acted like he was optional. His jaw tightened slightly, though his smile stayed lazy.
âIf Iâm rehearsed,â he said, pushing off the counter. He stepped into your space, one hand bracing against the surface behind you. Close enough to crowd. Not close enough to touch.
âI wouldnât be standing here trying to figure you out.â His head tilted slightly as he leaned in, just a fraction closer. There was something different in his tone now. Less polished. Less automatic.
He let it show â just a little â that this wasnât routine. That he was actually trying. You raised a brow lazily, finally meeting his eyes. âBut go on,â he continued, softer, almost coaxing. âIf I'm rehearsed, tell me what you think Iâm going to say next.â
His other hand came to rest on the counter behind you, boxing you in without quite trapping you. Testing. Seeing how much youâd tolerate. How far he could push before you pushed back.
You only chuckled. Took another slow sip of your drink. Like his proximity meant nothing. Like he wasnât practically caging you in. You set your cup down and crossed your arms. âYouâre trying to figure me out?â you said evenly. âYouâre doing a bad job, then.â
A quiet beat passed. âAm I?â His voice lowered, amusement threading through it. He liked this. The resistance. The way you didnât melt or giggle or fold. âAnd yetâŚâ A lazy smirk curved his mouth. âYouâre still standing here.â
The confidence was still there â but thinner now. Sharpened. His eyes dropped to your lips for a second. Just long enough. Just slow enough.Â
âIâm still here because Iâm entertained. Not because Iâm doing you a favor by letting you figure me out,â you said evenly. Calm. Almost absentminded.
You took a small sip of your drink. âIâm also curious what cheesy line youâre going to try next.â
Suguruâs lips twitched. A quiet breath left him â not quite a laugh, but close. âCheesy?â he echoed softly. He reached up without asking, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. Slow. Deliberate. Tucking it behind your ear like he had every right to. Then he leaned in. Close enough that his breath ghosted over your skin, lips barely grazing the shell of your ear. âWanna find out?â he murmured.
He pulled back just enough to watch your reaction. Waiting for the shift. The blush. The swallow. The crack in your composure. It never came. Your expression stayed the same. Relaxed. Mildly bored.Â
âI'm good.â
Two simple words. You nudged his arm away â not aggressively, just enough to move past him â and walked back toward the couch where Haibara, Shoko, and Yuki were sitting. Like it was nothing.
Like he hadnât just made a move on you. Suguru stayed where he was. For a second, he didnât move. He didnât fully process it. The rejection hit slower this time. Not sharp. Just heavy. Settling somewhere behind his ribs.
His heart was still beating too fast from the closeness. From the warmth of you. From the almost. He wasnât sure what churned in his stomach more.
The sting of being brushed off. Or the fact that he wanted to try again.
âËęŠď˝ĄđŐ. .ŐđŚŻâ. đ Ë
Suguru was fucked.
The scene from last Friday wouldnât leave him alone. It replayed in his mind in sharp, unforgiving detail. The way you looked at him. The way you sounded. The way you said Iâm good like he wasnât worth your time.
He could still remember how close you were. The warmth of your body. The faint trace of your perfume that seemed to linger in his memory no matter how many showers he took.
He had thought about that single interaction more than the dirtiest things he had ever done. And he hadnât even properly touched you. Every time it replayed, something twisted low in his stomach. Not lust. Not exactly. Something heavier. Stranger.
Something heâd never felt before.
His lecture dragged on endlessly. Some rant about foreign economies and stock markets. The professor also spiraling about his own investments tanking.
Suguru didnât hear a word. His thoughts kept circling back to you. When class finally ended, he left without thinking, shoulders tense, jaw tight.
Everything felt dull. Boring. Until he saw you. Sitting on a bench outside. Headphones in. Sunlight spilling over you like it was intentional. Like the universe was presenting him with something he wasnât sure he deserved.
You looked⌠beautiful. Your legs crossed neatly. Your outfit soft, effortless. Your hair falling perfectly over your shoulders. Brows slightly furrowed as you stared at your phone.
Beautiful.
The word made him pause.
Heâd called girls hot. Sexy. But beautiful? Perfect? That was new. And he didnât like how easily it was when it came to you.
He swallowed the thought down quickly. It was just the chase. That was all this was. Right?
He called your name as he approached. You looked up at him. And his heartbeat ticked up, just slightly. âOh, hi,â you said, tugging one headphone out.
âYou done for today?â he asked casually, already calculating how he could stretch this interaction. âOne lecture left,â you sighed, slipping your phone into your pocket and pulling the other headphone out.
âWhen?â
âTen minutes.â
âCome on. Iâll walk you.â
He didnât wait for permission. He picked up your bag from the ground and slung it over his shoulder like it belonged there.
âYou donât have to,â you called, following behind him as he started toward the main building.
âWhereâs your lecture?â
He ignored the protest entirely.
â018.â
He adjusted his pace slightly so you could keep up, leading you toward the back of the building without another word.
The hallway was quieter here.
Room 018 came into view on your right.
He stopped in front of you. You stepped closer, reaching up to tug your bag off his shoulder. âThank you for walking me,â you said lightly. âEven if it was against my will.âÂ
He scoffed, crossing his arms. âSo charming,â he muttered.
âIâll see you later.â He ruffled your hair â casual, almost teasing â before stepping past you and walking away.
Good thing he walked away. Otherwise he wouldâve seen it â the slight widening of your eyes, the faint warmth rising to your cheeks where heâd ruffled your hair.
The last time â at the party â he had been closer to you. Closer than this. But there had been dim lighting and music loud enough to swallow hesitation. Alcohol warming your skin. Shadows to hide behind. This time there was none of that.
No haze. No flickering lights softening the edges. Just daylight pouring through the windows. Just the quiet hum of campus around you. Just him standing there, fully aware, fully sober. Good thing he walked away.
Otherwise he wouldâve seen it â the slight widening of your eyes, the faint warmth rising to your cheeks where heâd ruffled your hair. He wouldâve known heâd affected you.
An hour later, you stepped out of your lecture hall. And stopped. Suguru was leaning against the wall across from the door. Like heâd been there the whole time.
His phone hung loosely in his hand, forgotten. He found your eyes almost immediately, a lazy smirk spreading across his face like this had been inevitable. âWhat are you doing here?â you asked, walking up to him.
He hadnât prepared an answer. Not really. âThought Iâd walk you home,â he said honestly. The words leaving before he could dress them up. You blinked at him. âYou waited an hour to walk me home?â A small huff escaped you â half disbelief, half something else.
âDonât ask questions you already know the answer to,â he replied, pushing off the wall. His hands slipped from his pockets, reaching for your bag again and slinging it over his shoulder like it belonged there.
You fell into step beside him this time. âFor someone with such a reputation,â you said lightly, âyouâre being such a gentleman.â
âAnd what does that reputation entail?â he asked, glancing down at you like he genuinely didnât know. Of course he knew. He just wanted to hear what you thought and heard.
âCome on,â you muttered, looking away. âYou know what people say about you.â
âI do,â he replied smoothly. âBut Iâm wondering what you heard.â There was something different in his tone now. Less teasing. More searching. Because for once, it wasnât about what the campus thought. It was about what you thought.
âYouâre a manwhore,â you said plainly. No hesitation. No sugarcoating. His eyebrow twitched slightly. âYou donât do face-to-face,â you continued. âAnd you donât kiss.â Your gaze stayed forward, focused on the path ahead. His eyes, however, were locked on you.
âPeople talk,â he said simply. Even though most of it was true. He had kissed a few girls back in freshman year. Early on. Back when he was still figuring out what he preferred during hook ups.
Heâd learned quickly that he didnât. Kissing complicated things. It made girls linger. Made them think. Made him pretend he wanted something more. âSo itâs not true?â you asked, your gaze snapping up to him.
âI didnât say that,â he chuckled, glancing back at you. This time, you were the one who looked away first. A quiet beat passed.
âWhy no kissing?â you asked. There wasnât judgment in your voice. Just curiosity. That made it harder to brush off. He exhaled through his nose, shoulders rolling slightly as he considered how to phrase it.
âKeeps things easy,â he said finally. âSex is transactional. You feel good, I feel good. End of story.â
His tone was matter-of-fact. Almost clinical.
âBut most people donât get anything out of kissing,â he continued. âYou kiss someone because you want to be close to them.â His eyes flickered toward you. âSeems more personal than sex to me.â He said it like it was obvious. Logical.
Like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. And you could follow what he meant. You understood the train of thought. You just couldnât understand him. Because to you, that sounded backwards.
Detached. Safe. And maybe that was the point. âHow do you even get in the mood without kissing?â you asked. You were trying to follow his logic. You really were.
âYou just do,â he replied easily. âYou donât really get in the mood to do your assignments either, but you still do them.â He said it like it made perfect sense. You giggled. It was soft. Unfiltered. And something in him twitched at the sound.
Heâd had girls whisper filth in his ear. Beg. Moan. Say things far more obscene. And yet a simple giggle from you did more to him than any of it ever had. âThatâs⌠one way to put it,â you said, shaking your head slightly.
âWhat about you?â he asked.
âMh?â
âWhat do you like?â
The question caught you off guard.
âUhâŚâ
You frowned faintly, thinking.
No one had really asked you that before.
You knew how to flirt. Youâve had boyfriends before â not many, you could still count them on one hand. From the outside theyâd all seemed fine. Good guys. But when it came down to it⌠They hadnât really known what to do with you. Everything had always revolved around them. Their pace. Their finish. âI donât⌠know?â you admitted, shoulders lifting slightly.
âWhat do you mean? Even virgins know what they like.â He looked at you, genuinely confused.
âIâve had a few boyfriends,â you said quietly, a hint of pink rising to your cheeks. âBut they werenât really any good. And whenever I tried to explain or try something different⌠it didnât really work.â There was embarrassment there. Not dramatic. Just subtle. Like youâd quietly decided somewhere along the way that maybe you were the problem.
âMaybe Iâm just not made for sex,â you added with a small, almost self-conscious laugh.
Something in Suguru hardened at that. Not lust. Not entirely. Something sharper. Because the idea of you thinking that â of some mediocre guys fumbling their way through you and leaving you convinced you were the issue â irritated him more than it should have.
âOr,â he said calmly, cutting in, âyou just didnât have the right partners.â
âWhen it happens with one boyfriend, it could be coincidence,â you said with a faint, bitter chuckle. âWhen it happens with two? Thatâs not really a coincidence anymore.â
He looked at you differently then. Not like prey. Not like a challenge. Like something he wanted to prove wrong. âIf you had the wrong ones twice,â he said evenly, âthat just means your sample size was bad.â There was a faint smirk there, but softer than usual.
âIt doesnât mean thereâs anything wrong with you.â His tone wasnât teasing. It was steady. Certain.Â
And for once, he wasnât trying to get you into bed (well not completely) He was trying to undo something someone else had planted in your head. And that mightâve been worse for him. Because this wasnât about winning a challenge anymore. It was about wanting to be the one who showed you differently.
âThanks,â you said softly. âThatâs⌠oddly comforting.â For a second, something warm settled between you.
âMaybe I could be the one to show you,â he added, a wink following right after.
And just like that, the warmth shifted. A quiet bucket of disappointment washed over you. Right. He was still him. Still the campus manwhore. Still the guy who turned everything into an invitation. âYeah,â you said lightly, pushing his shoulder with two fingers, âno thank you.â
He laughed, not offended. But something flickered behind his eyes â quick. Almost unreadable. The conversation eased after that. Safer topics. His time in college. Your time overseas. Gossip about mutual acquaintances. Who dated who. Who cheated. Who dropped out.
It felt normal. Almost easy. And that was the dangerous part. Because you genuinely enjoyed talking to him. By the time you reached your building, the sky had softened into late afternoon gold. You stopped at your door. âThank you,â you said, taking your bag back from him. âI really enjoyed our talk.â
And you meant it. His expression shifted â subtle, but softer than the smirking version he wore so easily. âMy pleasure,â he replied. Polite. Controlled.
âIâll see you around.â He gave you a small wave before stepping back from the entrance, giving you space as you unlocked your door.Â
He didnât linger. But as he walked away, hands sliding back into his pockets, something about the interaction replayed in his mind.Â
He enjoyed talking to you. Not flirting. Not teasing. Talking. And for the first time, Suguru wasnât sure if that made things easier⌠Or infinitely more complicated.
âËęŠď˝ĄđŐ. .ŐđŚŻâ. đ Ë
âWhere are you going?â he asked when you took a different turn instead of heading toward your building. He was standing outside your lecture hall again, like he had been for the past few weeks. It had become a routine of sorts â he would wait for you, walk you home, and talk with you about nothing and everything.
âI have to go to the library,â you replied. âMy professor assigned something last minute, and I want to get it done before the weekend.â
Suguru fell into step beside you without hesitation. âMind if I join?â he asked, his arm settling over your shoulder in a way that had slowly become familiar. At some point, you had stopped shrugging it off.
âSure,â you said, looking up at him with a stern expression. âIf you promise to be quiet.â
âI promise,â he replied, lifting his pinky in a childish gesture.
You sighed, but your lips curved slightly as you hooked your pinky around his. A pinky promise. The library was warm and quiet when you stepped inside, the faint scent of paper and coffee lingering in the air. You led him toward a quiet corner where a small table with two chairs sat facing each other.
To your surprise, he actually kept his promise. He opened his laptop and pulled up his own assignment, though he barely looked at it. Most of his attention was on you. He watched the way your hair fell forward when you leaned down to write, the way your sweater slipped slightly off one shoulder, the crease between your brows when you concentrated, the back of the pen resting against your soft bottom lip. His textbook sat open and untouched, the words blurring together because he couldnât stop glancing up at you.
âI have to grab something,â you said eventually, standing from your chair. He stood immediately. âIâll come with you.â
âYou do that a lot,â you remarked as you scanned the shelves. âFollowing behind me.â
âAre we having this conversation again?â he replied lightly, his eyes focused on you rather than the rows of books.
âYouâre like a big puppy.â
He laughed at that, an actual, unguarded laugh. âThatâs what Iâve been reduced to?â
âThatâs what youâve been upgraded to,â you corrected as you spotted the book you needed. It was on the top shelf. You stretched up on your toes, your fingers barely grazing the metal edge beneath it. Suguru stepped closer behind you, not quite touching you but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him at your back. He reached over you easily and grabbed the book.
Instead of handing it to you, he lifted it just slightly higher. You turned around with a small frown, your brows knitting together as you tried to reach for it again. He watched you from above, his smirk lazy but his heartbeat louder than he liked to admit.
âNot even a thank you you? Or a please,â he teased. âDidnât think you were ill-mannered.âÂ
âDo you want me to beg you?â you countered, your tone unimpressed. The thought alone made something stir in him. âWould you?â he asked, leaning a fraction closer.
âNo,â you replied immediately, crossing your arms despite the way your stomach fluttered at his proximity.
âThen youâre not getting your book aboutâŚâ He glanced at the cover. âInternational politics.â You flushed faintly, embarrassed that he had said the title out loud when it was perfectly normal.
âFine.â
He waited, expecting more. âPlease, Suguru,â you said flatly.
It wasnât breathless or sweet like he had imagined, but hearing his name leave your lips so casually still did something to him that caught him off guard.
âNot good enough,â he replied, shaking his head.
âYouâre enjoying this, arenât you?â you said, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking flustered. âDo you have some sort of worship kink?â
He chuckled and stepped closer until his chest brushed lightly against your body. âJust trying to teach you manners.â
You scoffed. âFine. Keep the book.â You pushed past him and walked back toward the table, your pride too intact to play along with whatever game he was trying to start. After a second, he followed you, the book still in his hand. This hadnât gone the way he imagined. You didnât fold. You didnât beg. You didnât give him what he wanted.
And he hated how much he liked that. âIâm going home,â you said as you began packing your bag. âAlready?â he asked.
âMight as well. I canât really go any further without that book.â
You walked ahead of him again, refusing to look back, your pride too strong to let him win.
And as he followed behind you â because of course he did â Suguru realized he admired that stubbornness far more than he should have.
âËęŠď˝ĄđŐ. .ŐđŚŻâ. đ Ë
His room was quiet, the late afternoon light spilling lazily across the floor. Suguru lounged on his bed with his phone in hand, half-reading through the fraternity council group chat. Over a hundred messages flooded the screen about some reckless freshmen stunt that could get the house in trouble. Arguments about whether to kick them out or just put them on social probation dragged on endlessly. He barely cared.Â
His phone suddenly rang. Your name lit up the screen. The number you had reluctantly given him two weeks ago. A smile spread across his face before he even realized it.
âSweetheartââ
âYou really took that book with you?â you half-yelled through the phone.
His smile shifted into a slow smirk as he leaned back against his pillows. Usually you were composed, cool, untouchable. Hearing you slightly ruffled did something to him.
âYou said I could keep it,â he replied lazily.
âI didnât expect you to actually take it.â
âYou told me to. Who am I not to comply?â
âDid you even register it, or did you just steal it?â
âItâs not stealing if I bring it back.â
He could practically hear your eye roll through the phone.
âWhat do you even want with that specific book?â
âFor someone as smart as you, youâre awfully slow.â
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âI dont want that book. I just want to hear you say please.â
âI already did,â you snapped.
âThat wasnât good enough.â
âThen you shouldâve been more specific.â
âI was specific,â he said calmly. âJust say the words and Iâll give it to you.â
âOh, please, Suguru,â you replied in an overly sweet, dripping tone.
It was sarcasm.
But the effect was very real.
âGo on,â he murmured, smirk widening.Â
âFuck off.â The line went dead. He stared at his phone. You really just hung up on him. He almost pouted. Still, he was getting closer. You wouldnât be this annoyed if you didnât care.
Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded at his door. He rolled off his bed, expecting Satoru, maybe Haibara or another brother.
Instead, you stood there. Arms crossed. Cute frown firmly in place. âGive me that book.â No greeting. No smile.
âSo impolite,â he tsked, leaning against the doorframe. He found it amusing that you had come all the way here for a book you could probably find online. A part of him wanted to believe you were enjoying this just as much as he was.
âSuguru, please. I have plans this weekend, and the deadlineâs Monday.â
âYouâre getting closer,â he replied.
You stepped inside his room without waiting for permission. It was surprisingly tidy for a frat house. You went straight to his desk and began rummaging through the drawers.
âIt could save you a real headache if you just asked nicely enough,â he said, watching you search. You straightened and finally turned to face him. There was something different in your eyes now. Determined. Slightly desperate.
âSuguru,â you exhaled. âI really need the book. Please.â That one was more sincere. And it hit harder than the sarcastic ones. He didnât move. From the outside, he looked unbothered. Inside, his stomach was flipping and his heart was beating fast enough to power a small city.
âPlease,â you said again, softer this time. He swallowed. âKnew you could be polite,â he said lightly, ruffling your hair before stepping past you.
He grabbed the book from his bag. It hadnât moved since the library. Your hands reached for it immediately. He pulled it back again. âWhat are your plans this weekend?â he asked casually.
Your expression shifted to mild annoyance. âSeeing a friend.â
A friend? His jaw tightened slightly. What kind of friend? Why did that word suddenly irritate him? âWhat friend?â he pressed.
You scoffed. âI came here to get a book, and now youâre interrogating me about my social life.â
âYou want the book?â he challenged. You hesitated for a second. âIâm going on a blind date. Now can I please have my book?â
A blind date. The word landed heavier than he expected. Jealousy flared before he could stop it. It didnât make sense. You were a challenge. A game. A mission to see how long it would take to get you in his bed. So why did the idea of someone else sitting across from you make something ugly twist in his chest?
He lowered the book without another word. You grabbed it immediately. âThank you,â you said, smiling.
âËęŠď˝ĄđŐ. .ŐđŚŻâ. đ Ë
Suguru laid quietly in his bed that same night you came storming into his room. His head clouded with jealousy and also lust.Â
You saying âplease' and almost begging him really did something to him. It may have been because you wanted a book and not because you wanted him, but that didn't matter to him. The words that bordered on begging had taken their toll on him, and especially on his cock.
The room was dark, except for the faint glow of moonlight slipping through the curtains, casting shadows over the rumpled sheets. Suguru's chest rose and fell unevenly, his mind replaying the scene over and over.Â
'Suguru, I really need this. Please.' Fuck, the way your eyes had locked on his. It twisted something deep in his gut, even when he had completely taken your words out of context.
A hot coil of envy still in his stomach because of that stupid blind date, but his dick still throbbing with need.
He groaned low in his throat, palming himself through the thin material, feeling the heat radiate from his skin.Â
With a frustrated huff, Suguru shoved his boxers and sweats down his thighs, freeing his cock. It sprang up, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening with pre-cum in the dim light. He wrapped his hand around the base, squeezing firmly, and let out a shaky breath.Â
His mind flooded with images: you on your knees, not for your blind date, but only for him. Begging to touch him, to taste him.
'Please,' you'd probably whisper, lips parted, eyes dark with want.
He started stroking, slow at first, his fist gliding up the shaft, thumb swiping over the sensitive head to spread the slickness. A jolt of pleasure shot through him, making his hips buck involuntarily. Fuck, he was so hard it ached, veins pulsing under his grip. He picked up the pace, hand twisting slightly, imagining your mouth insteadâwet and warm, sucking him down greedily.
His free hand clutched the sheets, knuckles white, as he jerked faster, the slick sound of skin on skin filling the quiet room. His balls tightened, drawing up as the pressure built low in his belly.
 He muttered your name, head falling back against the pillow.
In his mind, you were there, begging louder, your voice breaking as you rode him, pussy clenching around his cock. He thrust into his fist, chasing that fantasy, breaths coming in ragged pants.Â
He couldn't hold it anymore.
With a choked groan, Suguru came, hot spurts of cum shooting over his hand and stomach, his body shuddering with the force of it. He milked himself through it, every last pulse, until he slumped back, spent and sticky. The jealousy lingered, a dull ache.
âËęŠď˝ĄđŐ. .ŐđŚŻâ. đ Ë
Suguru had almost manifested it â the worst possible outcome.
And somehow, the night had gone exactly that way.
Thatâs how you ended up still wearing your date outfit â burgundy dress, black heels â on a grimy frat couch, completely out of place in the chaos of the house. But right now, you didnât care.
The bass thumped through the house hard enough to rattle the walls, music vibrating through the floorboards. The air was thick with sweat, perfume, and cheap alcohol. Out in the yard, a small group lingered in the glow of porch lights, passing a blunt between them and laughing too loudly. Satoru stood near the kitchen island, effortlessly charming two girls at once, his grin bright and shameless, while across the dance floor Toji had a girl pressed flush against him, moving in a way that made it very clear neither of them cared who was watching.
Suguru sat beside you, arm wrapped loosely around your shoulders. His thumb traced slow, absentminded patterns along your arm while he held his cup in the other hand, occasionally bringing it to your lips so you could take a sip.
You leaned into him slightly.
He leaned back into the couch, gaze lazily fixed on you, pretending he wasnât studying every expression on your face.
âHe was barely taller than me,â you complained, arms crossing. âAnd in the same sentence he claimed he was 6â1.â
Suguru brought the cup closer to your mouth again. You took a sip.
âThat sucks, sweetheart,â he murmured, rubbing your arm soothingly.
âHe wore this stupid expensive watch and could not stop talking about it. I swear I just sat through a forty-five minute TED Talk about watches.â
You let your head fall back lightly against his chest.
His heartbeat picked up immediately.
Your perfume. The warmth of your body. The way you looked â dressed up for some idiot who didnât deserve it.
He kept his expression neutral. Secretly, he was relieved it had gone badly.
âAnd then,â you continued dramatically, âhe showed me his stock portfolio. And then not even his car â the car heâs planning to buy after college. Like thatâs supposed to impress me.â
âBusiness major?â Suguru asked knowingly.
âUgh. He was.â You groaned into your hands. Hands completely covering your face now.
He chuckled quietly, then set his drink down and gently grabbed both of your wrists with one hand, pulling them away from where youâd buried your face.
You reached for his cup instead and took a long drink before handing it back to him.
âI donât get it,â you sighed. âI think Iâm cursed when it comes to men.â
His jaw tightened slightly at that.
âOr,â he said calmly, âyour taste is just terrible.â Â
You shot him a look. He smirked faintly. âGood thing I could fix that for you.âÂ
You chuckled and nudged him lightly with your shoulder. For once, you didnât follow it up with a snarky comment or a casual rejection. You just laughed. And he hated how much that did to him.
It shouldnât have mattered. It was just a laugh. Just you relaxing around him for once. But something warm and unfamiliar twisted low in his stomach. Maybe turning this into a challenge hadnât been his smartest idea. Because somewhere along the way, it had stopped feeling like one. He told himself it was still about the chase. About winning. About proving that even you would fold for him eventually.
But hope had started to creep in. And that was dangerous. âWouldnât that just make you one of my bad decisions?â you asked, tilting your head up at him.
His eyes were already on you.
âYou think Iâd treat you like that?â he asked, and for once there wasnât much teasing in it. There was something almost earnest there, like he genuinely needed to know.
âYou want me to be honest?â you chuckled lightly.
âDepends,â he said, though his voice wasnât as steady as he wanted it to be.
You studied him for a second.
âI think some bad decisions could be worth it.â
His breath caught before he could hide it. For a split second, his composure cracked â eyes widening just slightly, jaw tightening like he was processing what you had just given him.
Worth it.
His heart was pounding in his throat now, loud enough that he was sure you could feel it through his chest.
His hand on your shoulder tightened slightly, pulling you closer without him fully realizing he was doing it. Your gazes didnât break â not once. Slowly, his free hand slid down to your wrist. He lifted it carefully, like it was something fragile.
His lips brushed against the pulse point there â soft, lingering just long enough for you to feel the warmth of it.
Then higher, to the center of your palm. It wasnât rushed. It wasnât showy. It was deliberate. He looked back up at you. The music in the other room felt distant now. The world narrowing to the space between you.
âYou wonât regret me,â he said quietly.
At first, the kiss was soft â exploring, tentative. But as it went on, it took on a life of its own. His tongue flicked against your lower lip, seeking entrance. When your mouth opened for him, he pressed closer, his body fitting against yours.
The kiss grew more urgent, more demanding. His hand left your cheek and tangled in your hair, pulling you even closer. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his body pressed against yours without an inch to spare. And the sounds he made â low, almost desperate â sent a shiver down your spine.Â
His mouth left yours, trailing hot kisses down your jawline, to the spot where your pulse thundered in your throat. You felt him smirk against your neck â he knew what he was doing to you.
âWanna go?â he murmured against your neck, his breath hot where your pulse fluttered.
You nodded eagerly. he was already on his feet.
Your hand stayed in his as he pulled you up with him, fingers tight around your wrist as he led you through the crowd and up the stairs. The music downstairs faded with every step, replaced by the sound of your own breathing and the rush of blood in your ears.
The second you stepped into his room, the door shut behind you with a heavy click.
He didnât waste time.
His hands gripped your waist firmly, pulling you closer as his mouth crashed back onto yours. Tongues tangled languid and heatedâ exploring each other with deliberate strokes.Â
You toed off your heels with a quick kick, the clatter lost in the thrum of music drifting up from downstairs. His fingers found the zipper of your dress, tugging it down slowly.
The fabric loosened, slipping around your shoulders like a whisper of surrender. "Let me make you feel good," he murmured against your lips, voice low and rough, pulling back just enough for the words to sink in.Â
"I'll show you what your previous ones couldn't." His hands slid the straps down your arms, the dress pooling at your feet in a silken heap, leaving you exposed in nothing but your lingerieâlace clinging to your skin, a fragile barrier.
His mouth claimed yours again, the wet smacks of kisses echoing in the room, mingling with the bass-heavy rhythm from below. Both hands cupped the underside of your ass, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs hooked around his hips, and he carried you like that, devouring your mouth as if it were the last kiss he'd ever stealâdeep, insistent, stealing your breath.
He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, settling you on his lap. One hand traced the curve of your waist, skin warm under his palm, before dipping lower to toy with the delicate lace of your panties.
His fingers lingered, teasing the edge, brushing close enough to make you ache. Then he slipped inside, parting your folds with a confident stroke. His thumb circled your clit in slow, firm circles while two fingers curled into you, pressing against that sensitive spot deep within. The stretch was perfect, building friction with each deliberate thrustâcurling, twisting, scissoring to stretch you open. "This okay?" he asked, voice a husky murmur, smirking as he watched your face twist in pleasure.Â
"Must feel good, huh?"
You could only nod, breath hitching as he ramped up the pace, fingers pumping faster, thumb relentless on your clit. He leaned in, capturing your mouth briefly before his lips trailed to your neck, nipping at the skin. With his free hand, he reached behind you, unhooking your bra in one smooth motion. The lace fell away, and he palmed your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples, rolling them until they peaked hard under his touch.Â
Your whimpers filled the air, soft and desperate, and he groaned low, his cock twitching harder against your thigh. It had been straining against his pants since you kissed him back, thick and insistent, your sounds only adding to it.
Pressure coiled tight in your core, his fingers relentless, curling just right to hit that spot over and over. Your body arched, thighs trembling around him as the wave crested. A burst of colors exploded behind your closed eyelidsâan orgasm ripping through you, fierce and shattering, the kind you hadn't felt in ages. Your walls clenched around his fingers, pulsing as you came undone, slick coating his hand.
You panted, chest heaving, but he was there instantly, mouth sealing over yours, swallowing your gasps like they were his to claim. You tried to kiss back, lips clumsy against his, but the aftershocks still quaked through you, leaving you boneless.
"Need a moment?" He leaned back onto the bed, propping himself on his elbows, biceps bulging against the fabric of his shirt, veins standing out in sharp relief.
The haze cleared just enough, and you slid off his lap, dropping to your knees on the cool hardwood floor. The chill bit into your skin, grounding you.
"You don't have to," he said, thumb brushing your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.
"Let me give you something back," you whispered, hands already at his belt, fumbling with the buckle in your eagerness. Your fingers shook, haste making them clumsy.
"Calm down, sweetheart," he chuckled, the sound dark and fond, his hand covering yours to steady it, unfastening the belt and popping the button with ease.
His cock sprang free as you tugged his pants down, thicker and longer than any you'd known beforeâheavy, veined, the tip already glistening with precum. You wrapped your hand around the base, stroking once, twice, before leaning in to swirl your tongue around the head, tasting him on your tongue.Â
He hissed, fingers threading into your hair as you took him deeper, lips stretching around his girth. You bobbed slowly at first, hollowing your cheeks, tongue pressing flat along the underside as you sucked. Saliva slicked him, your hand twisting in tandem with your mouth, working him with eager pulls.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, hips bucking slightly. "So proud of you, taking me like this. My sweet girl." His praise washed over you, spurring you on, but just as his breaths grew ragged, his grip tightened in your hair.
He pulled you off with a wet pop, right before he could tip over the edge. "Not yet," he rasped, eyes dark with intent. "I want to be inside you when I come."
In one fluid motion, he shrugged off his shirt, revealing his muscular chest and abs. Then he scooped you up from the floor like you were weightless, manhandling you onto the bed. He flipped you flat on your stomach, the mattress dipping under his weight as he settled behind you. His cock pressed hot and heavy against your ass.
"Sugu," you moaned, voice muffled against the sheets, body arching back in desperate invitation.
He didn't make you wait. Lining up, he thrust in deep, filling you in one smooth stroke. The prone position let him grind against you, cock dragging along your walls with every snap of his hips.Â
His hands roamedâone sliding up to cover your mouth, fingers pressing against your lips, "Open," he commanded softly, and you did, sucking on his fingers as he fucked into you harder, the wet sounds of skin meeting skin filling the room.
"Bet you've never felt this good, huh?" he groaned against your ear, pace unrelenting. "You're so gorgeous like this.â
âHow does my cock feel? Come on, tell me."
You could barely form words, pleasure overwhelming youâmewling around his fingers, body rocking with each thrust. It felt too good, too full, his dirty words stoking the fire higher.
But after a few minutes, he slowed, a frustrated huff escaping him. This positionâit wasn't hitting rightâ not like he thought it would. He usually stuck to from behind, keeping emotional distance, but now... He pulled out fully, the sudden emptiness making you whine.Â
Grabbing your waist, he flipped you onto your back with effortless strength, manhandling you again, your legs splaying open. His cock looked even harder, flushed and straining as he positioned himself between your thighs.
"Fuck, needed to see you," he muttered, slamming back inside, the angle deeper, hitting new spots that made stars burst behind your eyes.
"Want to see your pretty face." His hand found your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he drove into you, mouth descending to yours in a messy, claiming kiss.
The combination shattered youâhis cock stretching you, thumb working your clit, lips bruising yours. Tension snapped like a wire, your orgasm crashing over you, walls fluttering around him as you cried out into his mouth.
"I'm right behind you," he panted, thrusts erratic now, chasing his release. With a final, deep grind, he came, spilling hot inside you, body shuddering. "My pretty girl," he whispered, voice wrecked. "So pretty just for me."
You both rode out the waves, breaths mingling as he collapsed beside you, pulling you close. The high faded slowly, but even as warmth lingered, his thoughts lingered.
He had broken two of his rules to get you into his bed. No kissing. No face-to-face. Both gone. And he had hopefully broken your man-curse.
This was supposed to be simple. A challenge. A bruised ego that needed repairing. A girl who had rejected him and needed proving wrong. Thatâs what he had told himself from the beginning. That he was chasing the thrill, not you.
But somewhere between kissing you and needing to see your face, something shifted. He had never needed that before â never cared about eye contact, never cared about expressions. It had always been easier that way. Detached. Controlled.
With you, it hadnât been controlled at all. He wanted to see you. Needed to. Needed your face in front of him like proof that this wasnât just another meaningless night.
And that realization unsettled him more than anything. He liked you. Not because you rejected him. Not because his pride had taken a hit. Not because he had something to prove. He just liked you.
Still, even as that truth pressed against his ribs, he tried to smother it. This is why you donât kiss. This is why you donât do face-to-face. It complicates things. It makes it real.
You were just a challengeâ a bet he had made with himself. So why did something twist painfully in his chest when he saw you slipping out of his bed?
You moved quietly, gathering your dress from the floor, smoothing it down like you were preparing to step back into your own world.
His hand reached out before he could stop himself, fingers closing gently around yours.
âWhere are you going?â he asked, and the softness in his voice surprised even him.
You glanced over your shoulder at him with a faint, knowing smile.
âThought you had rules,â you said lightly. âNo staying over, and all thatâ
His thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles. Instead of letting go, he lifted your hand to his mouth and pressed a slow kiss against your skin.Â
He tugged you back toward him, and you fell against his chest, your body fitting against his like it had earlier. âI donât think those rules really matter when it comes to you,â he admitted quietly.
He leaned in, pressing slow, unhurried kisses along your cheek, your jaw, your temple. There was no rush this time. When he reached your mouth, he paused, studying you for a second before kissing you softly. âRules donât apply to you,â he murmured against your lips.
You smiled despite yourself. The rational part of you knew better. It told you he probably said similar things before, that this was just another smooth line delivered in the afterglow.
But the part of you still tangled up in him, warm and softened and wanting to believe, chose not to argue.
âBesides. I'm not done with youâÂ
âËęŠď˝ĄđŐ. .ŐđŚŻâ. đ Ë
You and Suguru had settled into something dangerously undefined in the six weeks youâd been seeing each other.
Not official. Not casual.
If he wasnât at your apartment, you were at the frat. There was barely a day you didnât see him. He still walked you home almost every evening like it was routine, like it had always been his place beside you. But now it didnât end at your door.
Now heâd stop halfway down the street and say, âYou studied for hours. That deserves food.â
He called it a reward. He always paid. And when youâd protest â because you always did â heâd just shrug with that lazy grin of his. âYou already do enough for me,â heâd say lightly when you would try to pay him back. And without fail it would always send a wave of heat within you.
And it turned out you werenât cursed when it came to men. The men before had only cared about themselves. Suguru had proven that wasnât a universal rule.
Your things had started to mix with his. Your apartment was slowly overtaken by his hoodies, sweatpants, jackets, a toothbrush heâd left behind and never taken back. But his room wasnât much better. Duplicates of your skincare products lined his sink because he âwanted you to feel at home.â Your panties mixed into his laundry. Your perfume soaked into his sheets.
It was a challenge for Suguru at first, but that feelings were quickly replaced by something realâ feelings? love?
You were tucked away in the library now, headphones snug over your ears, soft music humming in the background as you tried to focus on your textbook. Four hours of studying had drained you, and nothing new was sticking.
With a quiet sigh, you packed up your bag and started weaving between the shelves toward the exit. Thatâs when you heard it. âHave you seen Suguru and his girl?â
Satoru. You recognized his voice. Too loud for the library. You slowed instinctively. âLooks like heâs finally mature enough to have a girlfriend. Finally done with the âI have rulesâ bullshit,â Satoru added, amused.
âYeah, right,â another voice responded. Sukuna his voice.Â
You couldnât see them clearly from where you stood, just shapes a few shelves away. You shouldâve walked away. You didnât. âRemember what he said?â Sukuna continued.
Satoru sounded confused. âWhat?â
âHis ego got dented when she rejected him at that first party she showed. Said it was a challenge for him. Wanted to see how long itâd take for her to give in.â
The words hit before you could brace for them. Your heart dropped. The air felt thin.
âOh,â Satoru muttered after a beat. âI feel bad for her. Sheâd be good for him.â
âShe would,â Sukuna said. âToo bad heâs⌠him.â
Your vision blurred before you even realized tears had gathered.
Challenge.
The word echoed louder than anything else.
All the late nights. The borrowed hoodies. The way heâd said rules didnât apply to you. Your stomach twisted violently. You didnât wait to hear more. Your legs moved on their own, carrying you down the aisle and out of the library before your brain could catch up.
You were supposed to go to him today. You couldnât. If Satoru and Sukuna knew, how many others did? How many people had watched you and thought you were just part of some ego game? The humiliation burned hotter than the hurt.
By the time you stepped outside, tears were already spilling freely down your face. You walked fast, almost blindly, ignoring the strange looks from people passing by.
You didnât care. You just needed to get home.
You got home after what felt like eternity, and let your bag drop by the door. Your apartment felt different now. Smaller. Louder with memories.
Every corner held him. The couch where heâd pull you into his side. The kitchen where he slow danced with you at 4:00am after a rager. The bed where he made love to you multiple times. The faint trace of his cologne still lingering in the air like it refused to leave.
You walked to your closet to grab pajamas. It was littered with his stupid hoodies and shirts. Youâd stolen them absentmindedly over the weeks, and heâd never asked for them back.
You pulled one down. Even after sitting in your closet for days, it still smelled like him. Ridiculous. Your throat tightened again. You changed slowly, forcing yourself to breathe, pushing the tears away with the heel of your hand. But the second you lay down on your bed, it all came rushing back.
Challenge. You were just a challenge to himÂ
The words echoed over and over. Apparently thatâs all you were. A dented ego. A game. A timer he had started the moment you rejected him. Your mascara smudged against the pillow, but you didnât bother fixing it. You were too embarrassed. Too humiliated.
How many people knew? How many had watched you walk into that frat house nearly everyday while they secretly pitied you. The room blurred. You cried until exhaustion dragged you under.
âËęŠď˝ĄđŐ. .ŐđŚŻâ. đ Ë
When you woke up hours later, the apartment was dim. Your face felt tight, puffy. You reached for your phone. Notifications flooded your screen.
Seven missed calls.
Twelve messages.
All from Suguru. Right. You were supposed to go over after the library. Your chest twisted. You dropped the phone back onto the mattress like it burned.Â
In the kitchen, you opened the fridge and stared at it without seeing anything. There was food. Plenty of it. You just werenât hungry. Your stomach felt full of something heavier. Regret. Shame. Hurt. You closed the fridge and went back to your room, curling in on yourself again.
âËęŠď˝ĄđŐ. .ŐđŚŻâ. đ Ë
Suguru stood outside your lecture hall the next morning, scanning the crowd. You werenât there. He checked his phone again. Still nothing. That wasnât like you. You always texted back. Always.
He sent another message.
Then another.
Then called. This time it went straight to voicemail. You declined him?
Something cold slid down his spine. Had he done something? He replayed the last few days in his head, searching for a misstep.
Nothing made sense.
Within minutes he was outside your apartment, slightly out of breath from walking too fast. His heart pounded harder than it should have.
He knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again.
Still nothing.
His jaw tightened as he knocked a third time, more urgently.
The door finally opened while you stood half-hidden behind it. Your eyes swollen. Skin blotchy. Dark circles under your lashes. It hit him like a punch.
âSweetheartââ He stepped forward instinctively, but you shook your head. âDonât,â you whispered.
His chest tightened immediately. âWhatâs wrong?â he asked, voice softer than he meant it to be.
âIâm not feeling well,â you said. The lie was obvious. Being sick might explain missing class. It didnât explain the puffy eyes.
âLet me take care of you,â he said quickly. There was uncertainty in his voice now. Fear, almost.
âIâm fine.â
You started to close the door, but his hand caught it gently. Your eyes lifted to him again. God. The sight of you like this hurt more than he expected.
âSweetheart, please,â he said quietly. There was no cockiness left. No smirk. No lazy grin. Just concern.
âNo,â you said, firmer now. âI said Iâm fine.â There was bite in your voice this time. He hesitated. But then slowly stepped back.
His hand dropped to his side and the door closed. And he stood there, staring at it, something unfamiliar and heavy settling in his chest.
He knew it now. You were mad at him.
âËęŠď˝ĄđŐ. .ŐđŚŻâ. đ Ë
Suguru tried everything. For two weeks straight, he showed up at your door.
Sometimes you didnât open it at all. Sometimes you did. And every single time, his heart climbed into his throat. The seconds between knocking and hearing the lock turn felt unbearable. A mix of dread and hope twisted together in his chest. Relief when you opened it. A selfish flicker of happiness just from seeing you.
And then the guilt.
Because every time you stood there, you looked a little more tired. A little more guarded. Like something inside you had dimmed. It was subtle to anyone else but not to him.
Your eyes didnât light up when you saw him anymore. You didnât lean into the doorway. You didnât tease him. You didnât call him Sugu.
He stood in front of your door with coffee from your favorite place and the sandwich you always ordered. It was early, but he knew youâd be awake by now. He had gotten up earlier than usual just to make sure he got it before the morning rush.
It took a while before the door opened. When it did, you looked the same as the night before. Puffy eyes. Skin slightly blotchy. A fragile kind of tiredness that made his chest tighten.
âHow are you feeling?â he asked carefully, like speaking too loudly might break you. âFine,â you said again, your voice still rough from sleep.
âI got you breakfast,â he added, holding up the cup and the small paper bag. He tried to smile, but it felt wrong when you didnât mirror it. You took the food from his hands.
âThank you,â you said politely. The door closed before he could say anything else.
You didnât eat it. You couldnât. The sandwich stayed untouched in the fridge. You took a few sips of the coffee, but even that tasted wrong.
The next day he showed up again, this time closer to evening. You still opened the door for him. That alone gave him a flicker of hope. âHey, sweetheart,â he said softly.
Your eye bags were lighter, but the tiredness hadnât left. Your lashes looked heavy, your nose faintly red like youâd been crying recently. He noticed. He didnât mention it, he didn't want to push it.
âDinner from your favorite place,â he said, lifting the bag slightly. You hesitated before taking it.
âThank you.â The door closed again. More firmly this time.
The day after that, he tried something different. Maybe it wasnât about food. Maybe it was about effort.
It was noon. You didnât have lectures. He stood outside your door with a bouquet of your favorite flowers tucked under his arm. He raised his hand to knock. The door opened before he could.
You startled slightly when you saw him there. You were dressed to leave â skirt, sweater, jacket, scarf wrapped around your neck. You looked put together.
Beautiful.
But the dullness in your eyes was impossible to miss. The spark that used to be there when you looked at him wasnât there.
âHi,â he said quietly. It felt strange standing this close to you again.
âHi,â you replied.Â
âGoing somewhere?â
âgrocery store.â A lie. Your fridge and pantry were still stocked. You just needed some air.
âAh,â he said, holding out the bouquet. âThese are for you,â Â He watched your face carefully, searching for anything â softness, annoyance, something.
You took them. âSuguru, please stop doing this.â The flowers rested against your chest.
âDoing what?â he asked, though his voice was tighter now.
âWhatever this is. Stop wasting your money.â
You stepped back into the apartment and walked toward the kitchen. He half expected you to throw them in the trash. Instead, you grabbed a vase and placed them inside. Careful.
That hurt more.
He stepped inside slowly, unsure if he was overstepping. You returned to the doorway and stood there, leaving a respectful distance between you. Too much distance.
He took a step closer. You took one back.
His heart shattered.
âPlease tell me whatâs going on.â
You looked at him for a long moment.
Not angry. Not screaming. Just tired.
âDid you win?â Your voice was steady. Cold. But your eyes betrayed you â glossy with tears you were trying very hard not to let fall. He frowned slightly. âWhat are youââ
âThe challenge,â you cut in, your hands sliding into the pockets of your jacket like you needed something to hold onto. âDid you win the challenge?â
You said it clearer this time. Slower. His stomach dropped.
It had started as something stupid. A careless comment. An ego he didnât know how to soothe when you rejected him. He had never been rejected before. Not like that. Not calmly. Not without you even flinching. You had unsettled him. And instead of admitting that, heâd turned it into a game. A challenge. Something to conquer. He had said it drunk once. Careless. Laughing it off in front of people who didnât matter. But somewhere between chasing you and actually knowing you, it had stopped being about pride.
It had become something else. Something he hadnât planned on. You leaned back against the counter, watching his expression carefully â the shock, the dawning realization.
âWhere did you hear that?â he asked, trying to keep his voice even.
âThatâs what matters to you?â you scoffed, pushing yourself off the counter. You walked toward the door.
A bitter laugh slipping out before you could stop it. One tear finally escaped, sliding down your cheek. He moved before thinking, his hand closing gently but firmly around your wrist.
You didnât turn around.Â
âIt started out that way,â he admitted. The words felt heavy coming out. âBut it didnât stay that way.â Silence filled the space between you.
âThe first time you rejected me, at that partyâ he continued quietly, âI didnât know how to handle it. Iâve never been told no like that. You left me feeling⌠off. And instead of dealing with that like an adult, I said something stupid to my friends.â
He stepped closer. You didnât pull away this time.
âBut when I got closer to youâ when I realized I actually wanted to get closer to you⌠not to win, not to prove anything, but because I wanted youââ His composure held, but his voice cracked just slightly. âThatâs when it stopped being a challenge.â
You finally turned your head just enough for him to see your profile. âHow does that fix anything?â you asked quietly.
Your eyes were glossy now, tears threatening to spill, but you refused to let them fall again. You stood straighter, trying to hold yourself together. He saw through it immediately. And it broke him.
âI canât fix how it started,â he said, voice low, steady but strained. âI canât erase what I said. I canât pretend I didnât humiliate you.â
For a second, he just looked at you.
Then, before he could overthink it, he let go of your wrist â only to drop down in front of you.
Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just⌠down. Both knees hit the floor. You blinked in shock.
âSuguruââ
He took your hands in his before you could pull away, holding them gently, like he was afraid theyâd disappear.
âI canât change the past,â he said, looking up at you now. No smirk. No ego. No control. âBut I can change what I do next.â
Your breathing faltered.
âI donât want to win you,â he continued. âI want to deserve you.â
His thumbs brushed lightly over your knuckles.
âIt started stupid. It started with my pride. But after everything. it stopped being about proving anything.â His jaw tightened slightly. âYou werenât a game to me. You werenât something to conquer. You were the first person who made me want to stay.â
That word hung heavy between you.
Stay.
âI donât expect you to forgive me,â he added, quieter now. âAnd I donât expect you to believe me just because Iâm here.â His grip softened.
âBut Iâm not getting up until you understand that you were never just a challenge.â
Your fingers threaded through his hair, the movement so natural it felt like second nature. When your lips met his, he inhaled sharply, the sound almost a gasp. Your touch was soft, the kiss gentle but filled with longing.
His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into the kiss, his hand coming up to cradle your face. He held you like you were something precious, something fragile.
As you broke away, he looked up at you, his expression vulnerable.
âStand up," you ordered, voice sharp like shattered glass, cutting through the heavy silence of the kitchen. He rose slowly, eyes locked on yours,Â
You pushed up on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was more punishment than passionâfierce, biting, a reminder of the hurt you carried. Pulling back just enough, your breath ghosted over his mouth. "I'm still mad at you."
Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, not in affection but in the raw need to anchor yourself to something, anything, amid the ache in your chest. "That's okay," he murmured, voice breaking just a fraction as he leaned in, capturing your lips again.
His hands found your hips, shoving you back against the counter, the cold marble slamming into your spine like a slap. It stole your breath, the chill seeping through your shirt. He broke away for a heartbeat, eyes dark and pleading. "Take it out on me."
Your hands fisted the collar of his jacket, yanking him with you as you backed toward the bedroom, the hallway blurring in your periphery. He followed without resistance, letting you lead, letting you use him like a weapon against your own painâsomething he caused.
In the dim light of the bedroom, you shoved him down onto the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You climbed onto his lap seconds later, straddling him, your skirt riding up your thighs. His hands hovered at your sides, hesitant, waiting for your cue. "Tell me what you need," he said, voice thick with desire, eyes burning into yours like he was memorizing every fractured line of your face.
"Touch me," you replied, the words vague, laced with the numbness you wielded like armor. But he knew. God, he always knew.
In a swift move, he flipped your positions, pinning you beneath him on the bed. The shift stole the air from your lungs, his body heavy and warm over yours, a stark contrast to the ache inside. His hands slid down, hooking into the waistband of your skirt and panties, dragging them off in one rough pull. Leaving you bare and exposed for him.
His fingers parted your thighs, tracing the slick between them before diving in. One digit slipped inside you first, slow and deliberate, testing your readiness despite the tension coiling in the room.Â
You were wetâtraitorously soâyour body responding even as your heart screamed no. He added a second finger, curling them deep, pressing against that spot that made your hips buck involuntarily. His thumb found your clit, rubbing in firm, insistent circles, building the pressure with each thrust of his hand.Â
The wet sounds of his fingers working you filled the space, obscene against the quiet sobs building in your throat.
He watched you, unblinking, as your breaths turned ragged, your walls clenching around him. "Let go," he whispered, voice raw, like he was begging for absolution.Â
The coil snapped, pleasure ripping through you in a violent waveâyour orgasm crashing hard, leaving you trembling and spent. Tears welled up, spilling hot down your cheeks, not from bliss but from the pain he gave you, the reminder of what he had done to you. You cried softly, the sound muffled against his shoulder as he held you through it, his touch gentling but never pulling away.
He kissed the tears from your skin, murmuring your name like a prayer, but you turned your face away, the intimacy too much, too raw. When the haze cleared enough, you shifted, rolling onto your stomach, presenting your back to himâa wall he couldn't breach. He paused, hands stilling on your hips. "Why are you turning around?" His voice cracked a little, laced with confusion, the question hanging heavy in the air.
"Don't wanna see you right now," you said, the words heartless, slicing through him like a blade. You heard his sharp intake of breath, felt the way his grip faltered for a second, his heart shattering audibly in the silence. But he didn't stop. He couldn't. Positioning himself behind you, he freed his cockâhard, aching, a testament to how deeply he still craved you, even in ruin.
He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, filling you with a stretch that bordered on pain, your body yielding despite the emotional chasm. He moaned your name, voice breaking on each syllable as he began to move, thrusts deep and measured, grinding against you from behind. "I missed you so much. Fuck, I missed youâ." His words were a litany, desperate pleas wrapped in groans, his hips snapping harder as if he could fuck the distance away.
You bit the pillow, stifling the moans that threatened to betray you, the pleasure building traitorously even as tears soaked the fabric. He reached around, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing in time with his pace, drawing you under despite yourself. Your body clenched around him, the orgasm pulling you apartâwaves of heat pulsing through you, leaving you gasping, spent once more. He followed seconds later, spilling inside you with a broken groan of your name, his release hot and claiming, body shuddering as he collapsed over you.
He always came with you, your body the one thing that could still unravel him completely. But the warmth faded fast. He barely caught his breath, chest heaving against your back, before you were shoving him off, scrambling out of the bed. The sheets tangled around your ankles as you snatched your discarded clothes, pulling them on with frantic hands.
"I have to go," you said coldly, the fleeting spark of vulnerability from moments ago snuffed out like a dying ember. You didn't look at him, couldn't bear the devastation in his eyes. "Please leave as soon as you can."
The words landed like a final blow, the door clicking shut behind you as you fled to the bathroom, leaving him alone in the wreckage of the bed, heart in pieces on the floor.
To your surprise, when you stepped out of the bathroom, Suguru was gone. For a second, you just stood there, staring at the empty space where he had been. You had expected him to still be there. Leaning against the wall. Waiting. Stubborn.
A part of you had wanted him to stay. You just didn't want him to see you fall apart again. During Sex? a little embarrassing but could just be from the pleasure. But afterwards?Â
You needed a distraction. And he was right there. But now the silence felt heavier.
The tears came again, hot and uncontrollable. You didnât bother wiping them away this time. You let them fall as you changed back into your clothes, hands trembling slightly as you pulled your sweater over your head.
You didnât crawl into bed.
Instead, you slid down beside it, sitting on the cold floor with your back against the frame. Your knees pulled tightly to your chest, arms wrapped around them like you were trying to hold yourself together.
You missed him. That was the worst part. Not the humiliation. Not the anger. The missing. Because after he made a joke out of you and your self-respect, you still missed him.
His words replayed in your head.
It started that way, but it didnât stay that way.
You didnât know if you were strong enough to believe.Â
âËęŠď˝ĄđŐ. .ŐđŚŻâ. đ Ë
Suguru was a wreck.
He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. The dark circles under his eyes were deeper than they had been when heâd stood outside your door. His room was quiet, but his mind wasnât.
It felt like he was already halfway to completely losing you.
You had gone cold. You stopped replying the way you used to. No calls. No lingering touches. No softness in your voice. And the worst part was that just a few days ago, heâd thought things were finally going well.
You had let him into your space. You had kissed him. You had sex with him. And then youâd looked at him with those same eyes and said you didnât want to see him when he fucked you. When you told him to leave, he felt something in his chest physically crack.
A knock sounded at his door. He didnât move. âCome in,â he called out, his voice rougher than usual. Satoru pushed the door open without hesitation. âYou missed the meeting today.â
Right. The fraternity council meeting. It had completely slipped his mind. Then again, everything had slipped his mind lately. The only thing replaying on a loop was the way you had looked at him when you said he needed to leave.Â
âSorry. Forgot,â he muttered, still staring at the floor.
Satoru raised a brow and walked further into the room before dropping down beside him on the bed.
âWhatâs up with you?â he asked, nudging Suguru lightly with his elbow, trying to keep it casual.
Suguru turned his head slightly.
The dullness in his eyes, the exhaustion etched into his face, the way his hair hung loose around his shoulders â it was enough to wipe the grin off Satoruâs face. Suguru looked forward again, jaw tightening.
âShe found out.â That was all he said. Satoru didnât need more context.
âIâve been trying to fix it for two weeks,â Suguru continued, his voice quieter. âI thought I was getting somewhere.â He stopped there, but the strain was obvious. Satoru leaned back slightly. âWhat happened?â
âShe let me in,â Suguru said. âShe let me into her apartment. She kissed me. We had sex. And then she told me she couldnât look at me when i was fucking her. Said she didnât want to see me.â
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. âAnd then she made me leave.â
Satoru tilted his head. âIsnât that usually your thing?â
Suguru let out a hollow laugh. âYeah. It was.â
The old him would have shrugged it off. No strings, no expectations. A girl walking away first wouldâve been convenient. But this wasnât convenient. âI donât want that with her,â he said quietly. âI donât want it to be casual. Sheâs not like the others.â
Satoru studied him for a moment before placing a hand on his back. âThen tell her that.â
âI did.â
âThen tell her again,â Satoru replied simply. âAnd again. Until she believes you. You donât get to mess something up like that and expect one confession to fix it.â
Suguru frowned.Â
âYou hurt her pride,â Satoru continued. âYou made her feel like a joke. That doesnât disappear because you look miserable.â
Suguruâs jaw clenched.
âSo what do I do?â
âShow up. Not to win her. Not to convince her. Just show up because you want to be with her. "Be consistent." Satoru said while he gave Suguru a pat on his shoulder.Â
âËęŠď˝ĄđŐ. .ŐđŚŻâ. đ Ë
A month had passed. Almost every single day, he showed up at your doorstep and would walk you to school or the library.
At first, it was awkward. You would put your headphones in and walk a step ahead of him, pretending he wasnât there. But he didnât complain. He was just grateful you hadnât told him to leave.
After a while, the headphones disappeared.
You still werenât chatty like you used to be. Conversations were short, polite. âHi.â âHow are you?â âGood.â But even that felt like progress. Hearing your voice again felt like something he didnât deserve but desperately needed.
He felt like he was starting over. Now he carried the weight of every silence, wishing he could go back to one stupid drunken comment and erase it from existence.
Two weeks in, you spoke to him first.
Just a question about class. It was small, almost insignificant, but it felt like a door cracking open. After that, conversations came in fragments â short, cautious exchanges. He didnât push. He took whatever you gave him.
His feelings didnât fade with time. They worsened.
Every day you looked impossibly prettier to him. He found himself craving small things â the sound of your voice, the way your perfume lingered when you walked past him, even your soft smile that wasn't even directed at him but a stray cat lounging on the pavement.
After three weeks, it almost felt like before. You walked beside him instead of ahead. You talked about something dumb a professor said. You even laughed once. You were still guarded. He could feel it.
But he was a greedy man.
After four weeks, you let him wrap an arm around you once. Just once. He had to focus on breathing because his heart felt like it was trying to climb out of his throat.
And now, a full month had passed. He stood outside your apartment like he had every day before.
âHey,â he said softly when you opened the door. You werenât dressed for class. You were wearing a simple white dress and a jacket. Casual, but clearly not for studying. You looked beautiful.
âSuguru⌠it would be better if you didnât walk me today,â you said, leaning against the doorframe.Â
Something uneasy stirred in his chest. His brows furrowed. âWhy?âÂ
You hesitated just a second. âI have a date.â The word hit him harder than he expected.
Date.
His mind went blank for half a second, like someone had cut the power. âWhat do you mean?â His voice came out softer than he intended.
âIâm going on a date,â you repeated.
He felt it then â panic. Not loud. Not explosive. Quiet and suffocating. Like something tightening around his lungs.
âWhy?â he asked again, the question more raw this time.
âI thought it would be good for me to get back out there,â you replied.
Get back out there.
Like he was already something behind you. He stood there for a moment, unable to process it. He had known he wasnât entitled to you. He had known you didnât owe him anything. But hearing it felt like the ground shifting under his feet.
âPlease donât,â he said quietly. The air between you grew heavy. He wasnât jealous in the old way. This wasnât ego. It wasnât competition. It was fear. Fear that he had taken too long. Fear that the progress he thought heâd made wasnât enough. âPlease donât go,â he repeated, his voice unsteady now. You looked at him, unreadable.
âI donât think youâre in a position to tell me whether I can,â you said, crossing your arms. You were right. That made it worse. âIâm going to be late,â you added, pushing off the doorframe.
He moved without thinking, his hand landing on your shoulder. He stepped closer, gently pressing you back against the frame. Not rough. Not forceful. Just desperate.
His hand slid from your shoulder down to your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours.
âPlease,â he said again. His eyes were glossy now, and he didnât even try to hide it. âIt took me too long to say this properly,â he continued, his voice cracking just slightly. âBut Iâm in love with you.â
The words hung between you, heavier than anything heâd said before. âI still want you,â he went on. âI still need you. This past month has been torture. Watching you walk ahead of me. Not knowing if youâd ever look at me the same again.â
He swallowed hard. âI donât care about pride. I donât care about being right. I justâ I canât watch you walk away like this.â
âIâm so sorry I made you feel like you couldnât trust me,â he said, the words rushing out before he could stop them. His grip on your hand tightened slightly, not to hold you there, but like he needed something steady. âI would do anything to prove to you that youâre going to be it for me.â
âSuguru,â you said softly.
Your voice wasnât sharp. It wasnât angry. It was tired.
A tear slipped free despite yourself, trailing down your cheek. His thumb came up instinctively, brushing gently beneath your eye to catch it before it fell further.
âStop,â you whispered. But he shook his head slightly. âYouâre the first girl Iâve ever wanted to prove myself to,â he said, his own eyes glassy now, his composure barely holding. âAnd I plan on you being the last.â
Your breath hitched, and that small sound almost broke him.
âI donât want to win you,â he continued, his voice quieter now, steadier in its vulnerability. âI donât want to chase you because my egoâs bruised. I want to choose you. Every day. Even if you donât choose me back right now.â
âI want to be better for you,â he said. âI really do. Even if it takes the rest of my life to prove it.â
There was no cockiness left in him. No pride. Just something raw and honest sitting in his chest, waiting for your answer.
Your hand found his wrist and gently pushed it away from your face.
âI want to believe you,â you said, your voice trembling despite your effort to keep it steady. âBut I donât trust you.â
This time, you wiped your own tears away. He didnât try to stop you.
âI felt used and stupidâ you admitted, the word sticking in your throat. âBecause of you.â
His expression shifted immediately, something wounded flashing across his face. âI never used you,â he said quickly. âAnd youâre not stupid.â
âBut thatâs how I felt.â
That landed. Hard.
It knocked the air from his lungs because he knew it was true. It didnât matter what he meant. It mattered what you felt.
And he had done that.
He had let you fall for him while knowing how it started. He had kept that piece of truth tucked away because it was easier.
âPlease,â he said quietly now. âGive me the chance to replace that feeling.â
He looked wrecked. Not dramatic. Not performative. Just⌠worn down. Like someone who hadnât been sleeping properly. Like a man who knew he had messed up something precious and was terrified of losing it. His shoulders werenât squared the way they usually were. His confidence wasnât sitting on him the same.
âIâm scared, Suguru,â you admitted, your voice softer now. âI donât ever want to feel like that again.â
His jaw tightened. âThen I wonât give you a reason to,â he said, almost immediately.
His hand rose slowly, carefully, giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted to. When you didnât, his fingers slipped gently beneath your chin, tilting your face up just slightly. So gentle.
âPlease,â he murmured. âLet me prove it.â There was no arrogance in him now. No ego. Just hope. And for the first time in weeks, you smiled at him. Small. Fragile. But real. The tight, suffocating feeling in his chest loosened instantly, like something had finally unclenched.
âI really donât know what to do with you,â you said with a shaky chuckle, another tear slipping free. The sound of your laugh â even broken like that â made warmth spread through him. That faint sparkle in your eyes, the one heâd been missing for a month, flickered back to life.
And he realized he would spend the rest of his life protecting that sparkle if you let him. âDonât make me regret this,â you whispered as you wrapped your arms around him.
For a second he just stood there, stunned. Then his arms came around you â firm, almost desperate â pulling you into his chest like he had been holding that hug in for weeks. His warmth surrounded you again, familiar and grounding, and something inside you finally unclenched.
He exhaled into your hair. When he pulled back, it was only enough to look at you. Your eyes met his. You rose onto your toes slowly, giving him more than enough time to move away if he wanted to. Instead, he stayed completely still.
You pressed the smallest kiss to his lips. Barely there. Soft. Careful.
It had been a month, but it felt like relearning something delicate. Testing if you still fit each other.
His breath hitched almost imperceptibly.
One of his hands came up to cradle your cheek, not guiding you, not pulling you closer â just resting there. Letting you know he wasnât taking control this time.
You were. You kissed him again. Still soft. Still unsure. Like the two of you were introducing yourselves all over again.
When you tugged him gently inside and shut the door behind you, he followed without resistance. No urgency. No hunger.
Just closeness.
Your lips met his once more â slow, polite, almost shy. There was no claiming in it. No desperation.
Just warmth.
He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your skin. For a moment neither of you moved. It felt fragile â like one wrong step could undo the careful rebuilding of the past month.
You kissed him again. Soft. Intentional.
He followed your lead immediately, matching your pace, letting you set the rhythm. There was no urgency in him, no greedy pull of his hands. Just patience. Every time you shifted closer, he responded. Every time you slowed, he did too.
He wanted you to feel it â that you were in control.
His hands rested at your waist, steady but light, as if he was afraid of holding you too tightly. When your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, he let out a quiet breath against your lips.
Not rushed. Not claiming. Just there.
You tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss by a fraction, and he followed without hesitation, his thumb brushing gently along your side in a slow, grounding motion. He wasnât leading. He was responding. Learning you again.
When you pulled back just slightly, he didnât chase your lips. He stayed close, his nose brushing yours, waiting.
He let himself be guided by your movements, his mouth moving softly against yours. His hands remained at your waist, his touch light but firm, anchoring you to him.
He was almost hesitant with the way he kissed you, like he was re-learning the shape of your lips, the touch of your tongue. Every movement was deliberate, every breath synchronized.
He was letting you set the pace, following your every whim, like your body had become his compass. And as your hands tangled in his long hair, drawing him closer, he went willingly.Â
Every sense was heightened â the taste of him, the way he smelled, the way he felt under your fingertips. It was intoxicating, the way he responded to your touch.
You pulled away from his lips, but only to wrap your arms around him again. Your hands slid around his neck, your cheek resting against his shoulder as if you needed to make sure he was real.
âI missed you,â he whispered, his voice low and almost disbelieving.
One hand stroked gently over your hair, slow and soothing, while the other traced absent patterns along your waist.
âMe too,â you replied softly. It was barely audible, but he heard it. He always did.
His arms tightened slightly around you, like he was afraid the words might disappear if he didnât hold you close enough. Without rushing, he slipped one hand beneath your thigh and lifted you carefully. You instinctively wrapped your legs around him as he carried you toward your bedroom, steady and protective.
He set you down gently on the edge of the bed. Instead of climbing next to you, instead of escalating, he walked to your closet.
He pulled one of his hoodies from where it hung among your clothes and handed it to you.
âChange,â he said quietly. In his other hand were the sweatpants and shirt heâd left at your place weeks ago.
âIâll change in the bathroom,â he added before stepping out.
When he returned, he was wearing gray sweatpants and the black shirt you loved on himâ the one that made you stare a little too long whenever he wore it. The hoodie swallowed you the way it always did, sleeves falling past your hands, fabric bunching around your thighs.
You sat on the edge of the bed waiting for him.
You did actually have a date tonight.
But you hadnât been excited about it. Not really. Shoko had pushed you to try. To move on. To protect yourself. But your thoughts stayed on Suguru.
And here you were, listening to Suguru like it was second nature. He placed his folded clothes neatly on your desk before turning back to you. Then, instead of climbing into bed, he knelt in front of you. Right at your feet.
His head rested gently against your knee.
âWanna be with you today,â he said quietly. âForget that date please. I just want it to be me and you.â
Your fingers slipped into his hair, guiding his face up slightly. Your thumb brushed over his cheek.
âPlease donât go,â he added, looking up at you â eyes soft, vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed anyone to see.
âI wonât,â you said. You leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips â slow, certain.
Then you tugged at his hands, pulling him up with you. He let himself fall back onto youâ his arms keeping from crushing you, both of you landing in a quiet tangle of limbs and fabric.
He pulled the blankets over you instinctively, wrapping them around the two of you like a shield from the outside world. For the first time in weeks, there was no tension. No fear. Just warmth. He held you close, your head tucked beneath his chin, your legs tangled together.
His heart felt full â steady, content. And this time, he wasnât going anywhere.
The rest of the day blurred into something warm and quiet. You stayed in bed far longer than either of you meant to. At some point your phone buzzed again â the date calling, then texting, asking where you were.
Suguru reached over without hesitation, glanced at the screen, and blocked the number before you could even respond.
You blinked at him. âWhat?â he muttered defensively. âHe doesnât need an explanation.â
You rolled your eyes but didnât argue.
Eventually you crawled out of bed, but Suguru followed immediately â wrapping himself around you and following behind you like an oversized puppy. you complained half-heartedly as you tried to move toward the kitchen.
âAnd yet youâre not pushing me away,â he replied, his chin resting on your shoulder.
You ended up making dinner while he hovered behind you, arms loosely around your waist, occasionally pressing a kiss to your shoulder or cheek. It wasnât possessive. It wasnât heated.
It felt like he was afraid that if he let go for too long, the moment might disappear.
You ate at the small table in your kitchen, talking about mundane things â a professorâs weird habit, something stupid Satoru had said, a cat you saw earlier that week.
Halfway through a show on the couch, you noticed Suguru wasnât even watching.
He was watching you.
When you caught him staring, he didnât look away.
You fell asleep curled into him, his arm firm around your waist, your legs tangled together. The television kept playing long after neither of you were awake.
Morning light filtered through the blinds, casting soft stripes across the room. The TV screen displayed a quiet, glowing message:
Are you still watching?
Suguru was breathing steadily behind you, his chest rising and falling against your back.
You tried to gently shift out of his hold, wanting to brush your teeth and freshen up before he woke. His grip tightened instinctively. âDonât go,â he murmured, still half asleep, his face nuzzling into your shoulder.
âIâm just going to the bathroom,â you whispered. He groaned softly but loosened his arms.
A few minutes later, as you stood at the sink, toothbrush in hand, you caught movement in the mirror.
Suguru was leaning in the doorway, hair messy, eyes still heavy with sleep.
He walked over without saying anything and reached for his toothbrush â still sitting in the cup beside yours.
He paused briefly, almost surprised it was still there. You hadnât thrown it away. He didnât comment on it. He just started brushing his teeth next to you.
The bathroom was quiet except for the soft sound of running water and the hum of the light above you. It felt strangely intimate â domestic in a way that didnât require effort.
When you finished and set your toothbrush down, he immediately stepped closer again.
His front pressed gently against your back, arms slipping around your waist.
He rested his chin on your shoulder, eyes half closed.
You could feel it now, his hard-on pressing against your ass. He left a small kiss on your shoulder, before turning your chin gently to meet his gaze in the mirror. His eyes held yours, full of quiet intensity. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he whispered, voice low and earnest, giving you the space to breathe, to choose.
But you didn't want to stop. You leaned into him, your head tilted to his and he captured your lips in a deep kiss.Â
His hands slid up your sides, turning you around when he broke away for a second. He lifted you effortlessly onto the bathroom sink counter, the cool porcelain a sharp contrast to the heat of his body. Your legs parted instinctively, the kiss growing hungrier, tongues sliding together in slow, languid strokes.
His palms roamed your body without a word, one hand cupping your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it peaked under his touch. The other hand traced the curve of your hip, dipping lower to squeeze your thigh, pulling you flush against him. You arched into his caresses, fingers threading through his long hair, tugging lightly as his mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, nipping softly. He kneaded your ass, grinding his erection against you through the fabric, the friction building a delicious ache. Your breaths mingled, heavy and uneven, bodies pressing and shifting in a wordless dance of rediscovery, his touches tender yet possessive, mapping every inch like he was afraid you'd vanish.
Finally, he broke the kiss just enough to scoop you up again, carrying you from the bathroom to the bed with ease. He laid you down gently on the soft sheets, his eyes never leaving yours as he hovered above.Â
Starting at your collarbone, he pressed a feather-light kiss there. He moved to your nipple, taking it into his mouth with a gentle suck, tongue flicking over the sensitive bud until you gasped, his mouth ghosted wet kisses across your stomach, each one a promise, leaving a trail of heat.
His hand was already between your thighs, fingers finding your clit with unerring accuracy. He rubbed slow circles at first, coaxing slickness from you, before dipping lower to tease your entrance.Â
Then his head followed, settling between your legs. He licked a broad stripe up your folds, groaning against you as if savoring the taste. "You're so gorgeous," he murmured, voice muffled but fervent, before diving in fullyâtongue lapping at your clit with frantic urgency, sucking gently as his fingers slid inside, curling to stroke that perfect spot.
"Missed you so much," he breathed between licks, the vibrations humming through you. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as you writhed. "Never letting go of you again."Â
He sucked harder onto your clit, tongue swirling, drawing whimpers from your throat. "So sweet," he praised, fingers thrusting deeper, faster. "Let me spoil youâlet me make it all better." The words spilled out in a rush. His mouth working you relentlessly until the pleasure washed over you, your body tensing and releasing in shuddering waves.Â
âSuguâ A soft cry on your lips.
He crawled back up, lips glistening, and kissed you deeply. You didn't care about the taste of yourself on his tongueâit was intimate, raw, a shared secret that made your heart swell.Â
Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer as he positioned himself, the blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open with a delicious burn that turned to fullness. You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed it, kissing you through the initial thrust, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm.
It was all soft moans and heavy breathing now, the room filled with the quiet sounds of skin meeting skin. He braced on his forearms, gazing down at you with eyes full of adoration, thrusts deep and unhurried, grinding against your clit with each pass. "My sweet girl," he whispered against your lips,
 voice breaking with emotion. "I love you." He kissed your forehead, your cheeks blushing with each declaration. "I'm so in love with you." His pace quickened, but it stayed tender, loving.Â
"I'm all yoursâalways." He said through panting. You clung to him, nails digging into his back. Lost in the connection, the way he filled you completely, body and soul.
A few tears slipped from your eyes, A mix of overwhelming joy and the relief of being wanted so fiercely.Â
He noticed immediately, pausing to kiss them away, his lips soft on your damp cheeks. "I've got you." he murmured, nuzzling your nose with his
He shifted then, pulling back from your face to grab your leg, lifting it gently. He pressed a kiss to your calf, eyes locked on yours, before draping it over his shoulder. The new angle let him sink deeper, his cock hitting that spot inside you with every thrust, drawing gasps from you both.Â
The pleasure coiling tighter with each shared breath, each whispered endearment. Your walls fluttered around him, and he felt it, hips stuttering as he chased the edge with you. "Come with me," he breathed, voice husky, and you didâclimax crashing over you in sweet, rolling waves, your body arching into his.
He followed right after, spilling deep inside with a muffled groan against your neck, holding you close as tremors shook you both.Â
His arms wrapping around you, peppering your face with lazy kisses as you came down, murmuring how much he loved you.
He stayed buried inside you for a moment longer, his chest heaving against yours in rhythm with your slowing breaths. His weight was a comforting anchor.
He lifted his head just enough to gaze into your eyes, a soft smile curving his lips. âSo proud of you,â he whispered. He brushed a damp strand of hair from your forehead with his thumb, then leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your temple.
Slowly, he eased out of you. âYou did so well for me,â he murmured, his lips finding the shell of your ear. âMy perfect girl.â
You melted into his touch, the praise wrapping around you warmer than the sheets tangled at your feet. He left you for a short while to come out of the bathroom with a warm damp towel.Â
With deliberate care, he began wiping you down, starting at your neck where sweat glistened on your skin. The cloth glided over your collarbone, tracing the swell of your breasts, circling each nipple until they pebbled again under the gentle friction. He paused to kiss the spot he'd just cleaned.
The cloth pressing tenderly between your thighs. Mindful of your sensitivity, his free arm holding you steady. âLook at you,â he said softly, eyes dark with lingering heat but softened by love.
âStill so beautiful, even after I wrecked you.â He kissed your shoulder, then your arm, working his way down to your wrist.
He tossed the cloth aside and gathered you closer, pulling the rumpled sheets over both of you. His body molded to yours from behind now, spooning you perfectly, one arm draped over your waist while the other pillowed your head. He nuzzled into your hair, inhaling deeply.
Your eyelids grew heavy under the weight of his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you. His hand splayed possessively over your stomach, fingers tracing lazy circles as sleep crept in. You drifted off, limbs entwined, hearts beating in syncâthe world reduced to this moment.
âËęŠď˝ĄđŐ. .ŐđŚŻâ. đ Ë
Suguru was waiting outside your lecture hall again. He still insisted on walking you everywhere. To class. To the cafĂŠ. Back home. Today, though, he didnât turn toward your apartment. He turned toward the frat. You glanced at him but didnât question it. He held your hand the whole way up the stairs, a little quieter than usual.
When you reached his room, he opened the door and then turned to you with a strange expression â somewhere between excited and terrified. âStay here,â he said. âAnd close your eyes.â
You raised a brow. âSuguruââ
âPlease.â
You sighed dramatically but shut your eyes anyway. You heard him moving around. Something fell over. A soft curse. Then the sound of plastic rustling. âOkay,â he said, a little breathless. âOpen.â
You opened your eyes.
He was standing there holding a huge Chococat plushie and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. The plushie had a small tag tied around its neck.
You took a step closer, reading it.
Will you be my girlfriend?
Your lips parted in surprise before you let out a soft giggle.
âSuguâŚâ
You took the plushie from him first, then the bouquet. He looked almost painfully nervous â hands hovering like he didnât know what to do with them.
It had only been a couple of months since youâd started seeing him again. Officially unofficial. Rebuilding. Healing.
And even though your anxiety had lingered in the beginning, even though some nights you still remembered the hurt â the way he treated you now didnât feel like strategy. It felt like certainty. He looked at you like you were the only person in the room. Like you were the only person.
âWell?â he asked, trying to play it cool and failing miserably. You stepped forward, your hand sliding up to rest against the side of his neck. Instead of answering, you kissed him. Slow at first. Then a little deeper. When you pulled back, his eyes were wide.
âIs that a yes?â he asked, a nervous laugh slipping out. You nodded eagerly. Relief washed over his face so fast it was almost funny. He let out a breath heâd clearly been holding for the last thirty seconds â maybe the last month.
âYou bought Chococat because I said you reminded me of him?â you teased, hugging the plush to your chest.
He nodded immediately.
âYou said I had the same energy,â he defended. âYou do,â you giggled.
He didnât waste another second. He wrapped his arms around you, lifted you clean off the floor, and spun you around like he couldnât contain himself.
âYouâre officially my girlfriend,â he said, grinning like an idiot.
You laughed, clinging to him.
He set you down only to cup your face and press a firm, happy kiss to your lips.
âWonât be long until youâre my wife,â he added, half-joking, half-not. You rolled your eyes but couldnât hide your smile.
Š please do not feed or use my content to feed/train ai. and please do not plagiarize, copy, translate, or repost my work on any platform
[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] â it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students â with very high libidos, and didnât want any random stds â that this was purely a sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else. [ fratboy!sukuna fwb series ]
[ TAGS ] â MDNI. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. piv. angst. friends with benefits. toxic frat culture. hazing. fraternity/sororities. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. SLOW BURN. fluff. spit. rĂĄw. rough. heavy spanking. degradation. dacryphilia. slight exhibitionisim. pda. soft sukuna. choso + yuuji r his younger brothers. every position. heavy creampies. violence. depression/anxiety. anger issues. squirting. cockwarming. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. sukuna is a football (soccer) player too. HAPPY ENDING. tags will be updated as series continues.
⎠ch 1 || how it all started ⎠ch 2 || miss me already?
⎠ch 3 || call me ⎠ch 4 || two worlds
⎠ch 5 || conditions ⎠ch 6 || tbd
⎠ch 7 || tbd ⎠ch 8 || tbd
⎠ch 9 || tbd ⎠ch 10 || tbd
⎠ch 11 || tbd ⎠ch 12 || tbd
⎠pt 1 â sukuna is starting to toe the line
⎠pt 2 â youâre desperate to prove this is just sex
⎠pinterest board ⎠ask tag ⎠main masterlist ⎠ao3 âŽ
[ INFO ] : the chapters are the actual series. it begins mid-spring semester JUNIOR year. the parts exist in the same story, but as stand alone oneshots and will not be mentioned in the chapters. they take place between sept-nov fall semester of their SENIOR year [parts and chps can be read separately]
there is NO SERIES TAGLIST ⌠age should be visible on your blog â (art: @/xhealer_ tiktok, dividers: @/lariesographic )
ꎟ smothering fratboy!sukuna in your lipstick is so romantic.
ጸ show him all your affections & show him off.
art by @/hunnismokah
"Babyâjesusâbaby." Sukuna groaned as yet another kiss was pressed to his jaw, rolling his eyes playfully as you pulled back to apply another shade of lipstick. "When I said you could mark your territory, I didn't mean like this."
The nth kiss in a matter of minutes was promptly pressed to his jawline.
"It's not my fault you look so pretty like this."
"No, it is. It definitely is." He sighed, hands caressing your hips almost reverently as you pulled back to stare at him.
"Hmm. No, I have to thank your parents for giving you your face next time I see em." You mumbled, leaning down to press a tender kiss to his lips, before smothering his cheeks in kisses.
"ACK! Baby!" He squeaked, gripping your hips tighter as you pulled back to apply more lipstick... again. "You're killing me here, woman."
He hates how pretty you look like that, straddling his hips, pinning him down, making it obvious whose boyfriend he is.
"Sooo pretty, Ryo. That's all I'm seeing." You hummed against his cheek, pulling back. "Such a pretty boy."
"You tell anyone I let you call me that I will DENY it." He hissed, wrenching an arm around your waist, crushing you against his chest.
"Yes, yes. My big, tough, scary man. How dare I call you pretty?" You mused, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"I am big, tough, scary, and menacing." He grunted, kissing your temple. "I'll have you know, people on campus are scared of me."
"Yes, I'm well aware." Your lips found his again. "My big, tough man."
"Damn straight." He huffed, chasing after your lips to press quick kisses against you.
ꎟ fratboy!sukuna is a cuddly mess whenever he smokes.
ጸ there's nothing more romantic than having a cuddly stoner bf that's in love with you.
He surprised himself the first time he smoked a blunt while you were over.
Typically, when Sukuna got high, from gummies, brownies, bluntsâeven the occasional cart, he threw his headset on & played video games, or went to fuck around downstairs with his frat brothers, played a game of pool, or played basketball in the backyard.
When he got his blunt out that night, he expected something similar, you lying on his chest while he gamed, him cleaning his room while you talked, going shopping at a corner store, board games on his floorâeven just sex.
But no, the moment the weed kicked in, and he saw you so prettily snug in his sheets, limbs tangled with hisâhe couldn't fight off the need to smother you in his affections.
Sukuna's body rolled on top of yours with a hum, red eyes half-lidded as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, scattering soft kisses across the skin.
"Ryo!" You choked out, tensing up as his hands found their way to your waist, rubbing over the skin almost reverently. "Baby, what's gotten into you?"
"Mm. Pretty girl." He mumbled, moving his kisses to your jaw, soft pink hair tickling your cheeks with each gentle caress of his lips, each cold rub of his lip ring against your skin. "Fuck, you're so pretty, I love you."
His long, cold-to-the-touch fingers slid up the back of his shirt that fell so comfortably around your skin, savoring the hitch of your breath as his lip fell to your collarbone.
Nipping at the skin slowly before pulling back, pressing his forehead against yours, muscular arms dragging you flush against his chest.
"I love you so much, woman; it drives me insane." His lips found yours, suckling gently on your bottom lip. "You taste like heaven itself."
You gasped against his lips, whining as he pulled back, rolling your eyes up at him. "Ryo. Baby, fuckâyou're such a dork sometimes, I swear."
"My pretty girl." He kissed down your jaw, humming in content before lying on your chest. "My sweet, perfect, pretty, amazing girl."
"Yeah, yeah. You're not so bad yourself." You whispered, tangling fingers in his hair, brushing through the softness slowly. "I love you too, Ryo."
Synopsis: As a lounge singer, you see many captivating faces in the crowd, but none are as captivating as the man with the green eyes. He always watches from the far back, making your knees weak
But what happens when he finds you after the curtains close?
Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, strangers to lovers, vampire!eren, vampire bites are an aphrodisiac, mutual pining, scent kink, blood kink, blood sucking from neck, implied masturbation, oral fingering, handjob, Exhibitionism, spit, Dacryphilia.
Word count: 12,483!
The air in the lounge was warm tonight, smelling of spilled gin, expensive perfume, and the ever-present cloud of cigarette smoke that hung just below the gilded ceiling. It was just part of the scenery, like the worn velvet of the booths or the soft gleam of the brass foot-rail along the bar.
Low light from frosted glass sconces cast long, shifting shadows across the room, accompanied by the murmur of conversations. At a corner table, a group of men in tailored suits argued over a poker hand. Near the stage, a woman in a feathered headband laughed with her friends.
It was another Friday night at The Pixis Palladium, full of the same kind of people with the same kind of wants.
A drink, a game, a distraction.
You stood in the narrow space behind the crimson stage curtain, your right foot tapping on the dusty floorboards. You could hear the band finishing their last instrumental number. The number even had a few couples up and swaying. You took a slow breath. You were adorned in a deep red number with a drop waist and delicate beading that caught what little light there was back here. Your fingers went to your hair just to check.
It was pinned up in careful waves, a few artful curls escaping to frame your face. The makeup girl, Sadie, had done her usual magic, giving you a cupidâs bow lip and smoky eyes that made you look enchanting.
âFive seconds, doll,â a stagehand whispered. You nodded.
The music faded. The master of ceremonies, a portly man named Arthur with a booming voice, stepped into the spotlightâs white circle.
âAnd now, the voice that turns our whiskey to honey, the lady who makes our hearts beat a little faster⌠give a warm welcome to our own songbird!â
The applause was polite, punctuated by a few whistles from the usual hecklers near the front. You smoothed your hands down your dress. A smile, one youâd practiced a thousand times in the mirror, one that didnât quite reach your eyes, settled on your face. You pushed through the heavy curtain.
The light was as blinding at first but after you blinked just a few times, you could see better. You smiled as you walked to the center of the stage, your low heels clicking softly. You lifted a hand in a small wave, your eyes scanning the crowd as they always did, taking in the blurred faces in the dark beyond the stage lights.
"Sing for us dollface!"
"Come on pretty lady!"
Out of all the mens voices and whistles, your eyes immediately looked up and just a few seats back.
And then you found him. Like you always did now.
He was seated at a small round table for two near the back, far from the busiest part of the room. But the shadows didnât seem to cling to him. His silhouette was as clear as the bright moon in the sky. He sat with one arm draped over the back of the empty chair beside him.
In his other hand, he held a glass of something dark. Whiskey, you guessed. His hair was dark and brushed back from a strong, handsome face. But it was his eyes you always found first.
Green as fresh spring grass, as emeralds pulled from the earth. They stared at you from a table midway back, positioned perfectly in your line of sight.
Your smile faltered for just a heartbeat before you locked it back in place.
There you are.
The man with the green eyes. Heâd been coming for months. At first, youâd noticed him because he was so still. Everyone else fidgeted, talked, drank, laughed. He just watched. And he watched you. It wasnât a leer, not like some of the men who came to see the âgirl singer.â It was just so focused that it managed to make your skin prickle every single time.
You turned slightly to nod at the bandleader, Mr. Hoover. He gave a little nod back, his fingers poised over the piano keys. You turned back to the audience, finding those green eyes again. You let your gaze rest there for a second longer than you would with anyone else.
His eyes were just so hauntingly captivating.
A corner of his mouth lifted, just a fraction.
You opened your mouth, and the first notes of âAinât Misbehavinââ came out. The band slid in perfectly behind you. You let the music take over, swaying gently with the beat, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the microphone stand. You performed the song, hitting the notes, putting in the little shrugs and winks the audience expected. "I'm saving my love for you."
More whistles and dog shouts erupted from the crowd.
Your eyes roamed the crowd, making brief contact with a smiling couple here, a nodding older gentleman there. But your attention, like a compass needle, kept swinging back to the back table.
He hadnât moved. He brought the glass to his lips and took a slow sip. His eyes never left yours. Not when a man at a nearby table let out a loud guffaw at a joke. Not when a waitress passed right in front of his table, blocking his view for a moment. His gaze was a fixed point. You feltlikeas if he was touching you.
It was unnerving.
It was exhilarating.
It made you put a little more ache into the song. As you sang your eyes met his, and for a wild second, you felt like you were singing the words directly to him. Seemed as if you were.
During a particularly soft bridge, you saw him take another drink. This time, a drop of the dark liquid escaped the rim of the glass and traced a path down his lower lip, over the faintest shadow of stubble on his chin. He didnât seem to notice at first, his eyes still locked on you. Then, with a slow, agonizing movement, he lifted his thumb and wiped the droplet away. His eyes finally broke from yours, glancing down at his thumb. He brought it to his mouth and sucked the whiskey off it, his gaze sliding back up to meet yours as he did so.
The action was mundane, but something about the way he did it, almost made you gasp, but you were a professional.
The rest of your set passed in a blur of melody, cheers, and hoots. You finished with an upbeat number, âI Canât Give You Anything But Love,â blowing a kiss to the audience as the applause swelled. You gave a final bow, your eyes sweeping the room one last time. He was clapping, slowly, three times. Just three. Then he set his glass down, before licking his lips.
You retreated behind the curtain, the cacophony of the lounge muffling as you heard Aruther walk up to speak again. Your heart was beating a little too fast.
âKnocked âem dead again, honey,â Sadie said, passing you with an armful of costume hangers. She winked. âEspecially that tall drink of water in the back. I saw him looking. Hell, everyone saw him looking.â
You managed a laugh, but it sounded breathy. âHeâs just a regular.â
âSome regular,â she said, her voice dropping. âKinda gives me the creeps, but damn if he isnât pretty to look at.â
You didnât answer, just made your way to the small, cluttered dressing room you shared with two other girls. You sat at your mirror, staring at your own reflection. The slightly smudged eyeliner, the red lipstick still intact. You unclipped your hair, letting the waves fall around your shoulders with a sigh.
The night came to an end as it always does. Sounds if the men stacking chairs, cleaning glasses, and the band packing up their instruments. You changed out of the beaded dress, hanging it carefully, and pulled on your own clothes as the other women, Historia and Pieck left the dressing room with sweet goodbyes. "See you all next time."
You slipped into your simple white-colored blouse, a black skirt, and stockings. Finally, you shrugged into your maroon coat. The collar and cuffs lined with soft, creamy fox fur. Perfect for the cold.
You said your goodbyes, poking your head into various rooms. âNight, Arthur.â âSee you tomorrow, Jimmy.â You found Mr. Pixis in his cramped office, going over the nightâs receipts with his spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
âHeading out, my dear?â he asked, looking up. His eyes were always so kind. He made sure that everyone was treated with respect at his establishment, especially the women.
âYes, sir. Good night.â
âWalk quickly,â he advised, as he always did. âItâs a strange world out there after dark.â
You nodded, with a smile. âAlways do.â
Pushing open the heavy brass and glass door of the lounge, you were consumed by the chill of the night air. It was a clean, free of smoke and multiple types of perfume. The street was quiet, most of the legitimate businesses closed for the night. A single, sickly yellow streetlamp cast a weak circle of light on the damp pavement a few doors down. You turned left, starting the eight-block walk to your boarding house.
Your heels echoed on the sidewalk, as you pulled the fur collar tighter around your neck, your gloved hands buried in the pockets. You were used to this walk. Youâd done it a hundred times. But you never liked it. The shadows between buildings seemed too deep. Every alley mouth was a gaping black maw.
Dangerous it was.
About three blocks in, you heard it. A soft, shuffling sound from behind you, like a shoe scraping over grit.
You froze for a second, your ears straining. Nothing. You shook your head. Just a cat. Or your imagination. You started walking again, a little faster.
Shuffle-scrape.
It was closer this time. And it wasnât a cat. It was the sound of footsteps trying to be quiet and failing. Your heart jumped into your throat. You didnât want to turn around. Turning around meant seeing what was there. Your pace quickened to a near-jog. Your boarding house was still five blocks away.
Shuffle-scrape. Shuffle-scrape.
They were keeping pace. Matching your speed. The sound was directly behind you now. Panic lanced through you. You broke into a full run, your purse banging against your hip, your breath coming in ragged gasps that fogged in the cold air. You dared a glance over your shoulder, trying to see a shape in the dark.
A stalker from the lounge?
That killer that had been on the loose?
It could be anyone.
You didnât see the person in front of you until it was too late.
You slammed into a chest, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. You stumbled backward, sure you were about to hit the hard pavement.
Strong hands shot out and caught you by the shoulders, stopping your fall effortlessly. The grip was firm but not painful, the fingers long and surprisingly elegant-looking against the dark wool of your coat. You looked up, gasping for breath.
And you found yourself staring into those same piercing green eyes.
He was even more striking up close. The dim streetlamp caught the angles of his face. The beautiful line of his jaw, the straight slope of his nose, the dark sweep of his brows. His lips looked soft as silk and as pink as rose. His mouth was set in a concerned line.
He also smelled so good.
Deliciously so.
âAre you all right?â he asked. His voice was lower than youâd imagined it would be, but nonetheless captivating. His hands were still on your shoulders, holding you steady.
For a moment, you were speechless. You just stared at him, your mind trying to reconcile the man from the shadowy lounge with the man holding you up on a dark street.
âI⌠Iâm sorry, sirâ you finally stammered, your voice shaky. You took a step back, and his hands fell away, leaving your shoulders feeling strangely cold. âI wasnât looking where I was going. I heard⌠I thought someone was following me.â
His expression didnât change, but his eyes moved from your face. He looked past you, down the dark stretch of sidewalk youâd just run from. His gaze was just like how it was at the lounge, focused. It was a hunterâs look. He stared at a particular patch of deeper shadow between two brick buildings, his body perfectly still. He didnât blink. You watched him, clutching your purse to your chest, your own fear momentarily forgotten in the strangeness of his concentration.
After what felt like a full minute, he blinked once, slowly, and looked back down at you. His eyes softened, the intense scrutiny replaced by something more gentle.
âItâs too late for a woman to be out alone, missâ he said simply. His voice held no judgment or malice. He gestured down the street with a slight tilt of his head. âAre you headed far?â
You swallowed. âJust to Acacia Street. The boarding house there.â
âMay I accompany you?â he asked. He didnât smile, but the offer seemed genuine. He extended his arm slightly, not quite offering it to take, but presenting the option. âIt would put my mind at ease.â
Every warning youâd ever heard, every bit of common sense screamed at you. Donât go with strangers. Especially men you donât know. Especially men who stare at you for months and then appear out of nowhere on a dark street. But another part of you, a part exhausted by fear and still humming from the adrenaline of the chase, looked at him. Heâd caught you when you fell. He hadnât tried to grab you or hurt you. Heâd just⌠asked. And those eyes, now that they were on you again, held nothing but safety.
Your caution wrestled with your desire to not walk the last five blocks alone. The memory of the shuffling footsteps decided it.
âOkay,â you said. âThank you.â
You didnât take his arm. You fell into step beside him, leaving a careful foot of space between you. He nodded, understanding, and began to walk, matching his longer stride to yours. The silence was total, broken only by the synchronized sound of your footsteps. The air felt colder now. You were focused on the man beside you, of the way his shoulder occasionally brushed the sleeve of your coat.
He walked with a kind of liquid grace, his movements completely silent aside from the tap of his fine leather shoes on the pavement. You found yourself glancing at him sideways, studying his profile. He seemed utterly unbothered by the quiet.
And breathing beautiful in the moonlight.
After a few blocks, the tension in your shoulders began to ease. The footsteps were gone. The street seemed less menacing with him beside you.
âYou have an incredible voice,â he said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice didnât startle you, it was actually the complete opposite. It was like smooth molasses filled your ears.
You looked at him, surprised. âThank you, sirâ
âHow does one acquire a voice like that?â he asked. He looked straight ahead as he spoke. âTraining? Or were you simply born with it?â
You shrugged, a little thrown by the question. âBorn with it, I guess. I sang in church as a kid. Never had lessons or anything.â You paused. âMy mom said I was singing before I was talking.â
He turned his head to look at you then, a soft smile touching his lips. âA beautiful gift,â he said. âTo bring such a sound into the world. Itâs a rare thing.â
The compliment was so direct, so unadorned, that you felt your body starting to heat up. You looked away, focusing on the cracks in the sidewalk. âItâs just a job.â
âItâs more than that,â he said quietly. âI can see it when you sing.â
You didnât know how to answer that. So you just kept walking.
Finally, you turned onto Acacia Street. Your boarding house was halfway down the block, a tall, narrow building with a faint light glowing in the front parlor window.
âThis is me,â you said, stopping at the bottom of the three stone steps leading to the front door.
He stopped beside you, turning to face you fully. The weak light from the parlor window barely reached him, outlining him in soft gold. âIâm glad youâre home safely miss,â he said.
You stood there for a moment, suddenly feeling awkward. You should just say goodnight and go inside. But you felt a pull, a need to acknowledge this bizarre yet intriguing encounter. You stuck out your hand for a handshake. âThank you, Mr⌠Iâm sorry, I donât know your name.â
He looked down at your gloved hand, then back up at your face. He didnât take your hand to shake it. Instead, he reached out and gently turned it over, so your palm faced downward. His touch through the soft leather of your glove was a faint. Without breaking eye contact, he bent at the waist. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to the back of your gloved hand.
It wasnât a dry peck. He held his lips there for a full two seconds. You could feel the softness of his mouth, the slight pressure. A shiver ran straight up your arm and into your core. You had to bite your lip from how tender it was. His lips were warm. They felt dangerous. They felt like sin.
His eyes met yours as he kissed your hand, his lips finally pulling back. He straightened up, but he didnât let go of your hand. He kept his fingers lightly around your wrist, his thumb resting on your pulse point. He looked up from the spot heâd kissed, his green eyes finding yours. They seemed to drink in the streetlight.
âEren,â he said, âYou may call me Eren, if youâd like.â
You couldnât move. You couldnât breathe. Your pulse was hammering under his thumb, and you knew he could feel it. The feeling of his mouth on your glove was better than any kiss you have had with a man.
âEren,â you repeated, the name felt perfect on your tongue. You managed a smile as you looked up at him through your lashes. âWhat a lovely name. I'm Y/n."
He returned the smile, a little wider this time, showing a glimpse of white teeth. He finally released your hand, and you let it fall to your side, as he locked his eyes on yours again. "Your name is...intoxicatingly beautiful."
This man was dangerous. That voice, the looks, the gaze. It was enough to have a woman throw their panties at him, no man has ever held your attention like this, and yet, you had to go inside.
âGoodnight,â you whispered.
He simply nodded, a single, graceful dip of his head. âGoodnight.â
You turned, fumbling in your purse for your key. Your fingers were trembling. You found it, fitted it into the lock, and pushed the heavy door open. You stepped into the foyer, your cat immediately coming to wrap its furry body around and inbetween your legs. You paused, your hand still on the door.
You had to look. You had to see if he was still there.
You turned around, leaning back out the door.
The bottom of the stone steps were empty. The sidewalk was clear. You scanned the street, left and right. Nothing. No retreating figure, no shadow moving away. He was just gone. As if heâd never been there at all. As if the whole walk, his hand on your shoulder, his lips on your gloved hand, had been a vivid dream conjured by the night air and your own fear.
You stood there in the doorway for a long minute, staring at the empty space where he had stood. The chill from outside was beginning to seek inside your home, causing your cat to run towards your living room area, but you didn'treally feel it. All you felt was the lingering warmth on the back of your hand, and the realization that the man with the green eyes was now a man with a name.
Eren.
You finally pushed the door closed. You leaned back against the wood, and clutched your chest. The night was over, but something, you knew with a certainty was that, this will not be the last time you see him.
The weeks that followed that first encounter passed in a blur of music, smoke, and those green eyes.
Eren became a regular fixture, not just at The Pixis Palladium, but in your life. He started showing up everywhere. At the corner store where you bought your weekly groceries, somehow appearing in the produce section just as you were selecting apples. Outside the boarding house on Sunday mornings when you left for your walk in the park. At the library where you sometimes spent your afternoons off, reading romance novels in the back corner.
It should have been unsettling. It should have sent every warning bell in your head ringing. But instead, you found yourself looking for him. Anticipating his arrival. Your heart would do this stupid little jump whenever you spotted that dark hair and those devastating eyes.
The conversations started small. A comment about the weather. A question about what you were reading. But they grew. You learned he had a taste for jazz, that heâd traveled extensively though he never quite specified where, that he had an opinion on everything from politics to poetry. He was educated, well-spoken, and had this way of listening to you that made you feel like every word you said mattered.
And god, could he talk. His voice alone was enough to make your thighs clench together. But the things he said, the way he said them, always walking this razorâs edge between proper and provocative. Heâd compliment the curve of your neck and make it sound like he was discussing architecture. Heâd describe the way you moved on stage and somehow make it feel like he was touching you with his words alone.
More than once, youâd excused yourself to the bathroom after a conversation with him, your underwear embarrassingly wet, your body buzzing with want. He was a gentleman, always. But there was something underneath, something dangerous that lurked behind those eyes and that smooth voice. Something that promised he could be very, very ungentlemanly if given the chance.
Tonight was different though. The city was on edge, well it had been for a while now. Three more people had gone missing in the last fortnight, all last seen in nightclubs or on their way home from them. The papers screamed about a possible serial killer, a âJazz- Age Jack the Ripper.â The laughter at The Pixis seemed forced now, the applause thinner.
Your friends from the lounge, Sadie and Pieck, were especially jumpy. After your Friday night set, the three of you were changing in the dressing room, accompanied by none other than quiet anxiety.
âI donât like it,â Pieck muttered, struggling with the clasp of her necklace. âMy pa wonât stop telling me to quit. Says itâs not safe for a girl to work nights.â
âItâs never been safe,â Sadie snorted, wiping off her stage makeup with cold cream. âBut now it feelsâŚeven scarier. I keep looking over my shoulder.â
You were feeling it too, but you hated to see some of your favorite girls so down.
âWe should go out,â you said suddenly, turning from the mirror. âSomewhere loud. Somewhere bright. Letâs go to The Sapphire Room. Theyâve got that new swing band. Weâll dance until we canât think.â
Sadieâs eyes lit up. âYou know, thatâs not a half-bad idea. Iâve been wound tighter than a clock.â Pieck hesitated, then nodded. âAlright. But we stick together. No wandering off.â
âPerfect" you said, a real smile touching your lips for the first time all night.
You chose your dress with care. It was a new acquisition, a sinful indulgence from a second-hand shop that specialized in clothes from fallen society girls. Orange-brown silk, shot through with golden threads, beaded with tiny amber crystals. It was a body-con garment that clung to every curve, with a ruffled hem that swished around your mid-thigh. It was not a dress for a lady. It was a dress for a woman who wanted to be looked at. You paired it with silk stockings, T-strap heels, and left your hair down in loose waves.
You looked like a sunset distilled into a woman.
The Sapphire Room was a different from The Pixis. It was bigger, brighter, bawdier. The air vibrated with the blare of trumpets and the pounding beat of a full swing band on a raised platform. The dance floor was a swirling mass of bodies, men in suits, women in fringe and sequins, all moving in a frantic, joyful release.
You lost Sadie and Pieck to the throng almost immediately, swallowed up by eager partners. So much for Piecks plan, but you didnât mind. You let the music get inside you, let it move your hips, your shoulders. A man in a pinstripe suit appeared in front of you, his face flushed with drink and good cheer. He didnât ask, just grabbed your hand and pulled you into the whirl."Let's go pretty lady."
You laughed, letting him spin you. The dress swirled around, the beads catching the light. It felt good to move without a microphone in your hand, to be just another body in the crowd. Another man cut in, then another. You became a prize to be passed around the floor, a flash of orange-brown silk in the sea of black and navy. You smiled, you danced, you let their hands settle on your waist, your back.
You were spinning away from the third man feeling a bit dizzy and breathless, when you collided with a chest that you had come to recognize along with his scent.
Sandwood. Old books. Rain. And underneath it all, something metallic.
Your hands came up, palms flattening against the fine wool of his jacket. You looked up.
Eren. His green eyes were like chips of stained glass under the spinning lights. He wasnât smiling fully, just a little smirk. His expression was intense, focused solely on you. âFancy meeting you here,â you said, your voice coming out a little breathy.
âI go where the music is,â he said, his voice low enough that you had to lean in to hear it over the band. His hands came to rest on your hips, his fingers spanning the curve of them through the silk. They were warm. Almost hot and it was making you feel hot too. âAnd I had a feeling youâd be where the music is.â
âYou followed me,â you said.
âI was in the neighborhood,â he said, a ghost of a smile finally touching his mouth. âSaw you through the window. Couldnât help myself.â
The song shifted to something slower, a bluesy number with a sensual beat. The dancers around you melted into closer embraces. Eren didnât ask. He simply pulled you against him, one hand sliding from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you flush to his body. You could feel every hard plane of him. Your breasts were crushed against his chest, your stomach against his. Your head fit perfectly under his chin.
âThis is dangerous,â you murmured into his collar. You could smell his skin and oh how it feels like you feel under a spell.
âI know,â he breathed into your hair. âI donât see you moving away though, huh?"
You started to move with him. He was a good dancer, leading with subtle shifts of his body. You let him guide you, your bodies swaying as one unit. His hand on your back crept lower, one singular finger going agonizinly slow down your back before he rested his whole hand on the swell of your backside. A shiver racked your entire body. You turned your head, so your lips were near his ear.
âPeople are watching,â you whispered.
âLet them,â he whispered back. His breath was warm against your ear.
If he was gonna be bold, so could you. You turned in his arms so your back was to his chest. His arms wrapped around you, crossing over your stomach, holding you tight against him. You could feel his form against the base of your spine. A soft moan crawling its way out your throat.
âYeah,â he groaned softly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. âYou feel that don't you? Thatâs all for you. Has been for months.â
You arched your back, pressing yourself more firmly against him. His arms tightened. One of his hands slid up from your stomach, over the silk covering your ribs, stopping just shy of your breast. His thumb stroked the underside of the curve through the fabric. Your breath hitched.
âErenâŚâ
âTell me to be a gentleman and Iâll take my hands off you. Iâll walk you back to your friends and say goodnight.â
You didnât say a word. You turned your head, catching his gaze over your shoulder. You let him see the want in your eyes, the raw, unguarded hunger. Youâd hidden it for weeks, but you didnât hide it now.
His hand finally closed over your breast, palming it fully. The silk of the dress did nothing against his touch. You could feel the heat of his hand, the slight roughness of his palm. He squeezed, gently at first, then with more pressure. "Shit..." You closed your eyes and moaned just a bit into his ear. Your nipple that he had been twisting was now peaking painfully against the fabric, and you bit your lip to stifle a much louder moan from the sight.
His other hand slid down from your stomach, over the front of your dress, his fingertips pressing against the silk covering your mound. You gasped, your head falling back against his shoulder. The music was still pounding, people were still dancing all around you, but the world had narrowed to the space where his body met yours.
âWe need to leave,â Eren whispered into your ear. His voice was ragged. âRight fucking now.â
You nodded, unable to form words. His hand left your breast, grabbed your hand, and he was pulling you through the crowd. You followed, your legs shaky, your core throbbing with every step. You caught a glimpse of Sadieâs surprised face as you passed, but you didnât stop. You pushed through the packed bodies, past the bar, and out into the night.
The street was quieter, the jazz a muffled thump behind the closed doors. You were both breathing hard, clouds of vapor forming and vanishing in the lamplight. He still had your hand in a tight grip.
He led you down the block to where a beautiful black Packard was parked, its long hood gleaming under a streetlamp. It looked expensive, that must come with being rich. He opened the passenger door for you and you slid in, the smooth leather of the seat cool against your bare thighs where the dress had ridden up. He closed the door, walked around the front with quick, long strides, and got in behind the wheel. The engine growled to life with a turn of the key.
He drove fast, his eyes on the road. You watched his profile, the way his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. You reached over, tentatively, and placed your hand on his thigh, massaging it a bit. The muscle there was taut as a steel cable. He glanced at you, his green eyes glowing in the dark of the car.
âIf you keep touching me, Iâm going to wreck this car,â he said, his voice tight.
âThen pull over,â you heard yourself say. The words were out before you could think them through.
A low sound came from his throat, almost a snarl. âNot a chance.â
He kept driving, leaving the bright lights and crowded streets of the city center behind. The buildings grew farther apart, giving way to larger estates shrouded in trees. Finally, he turned onto a long, private drive lined with old, gnarled oaks. At the end of it stood his house.
It was exactly as youâd pictured in your wildest, darkest imaginings. A tall structure of blackened brick, all sharp angles and pointed arches. Gothic spires clawed at the night sky. It was beautiful in a way that made your stomach flip, like looking at a sharp knife. He parked in front of the heavy wooden door and killed the engine.
He got out, came around, and opened your door. You took his offered hand and stepped out, your heels sinking into the gravel. He didnât let go of your hand. He led you up the wide stone steps to the door, unlocked it with an old, ornate key, and pushed it open.
Inside, it was dark and cavernous. The air was cool, smelled of old stone. He flicked a switch, and a chandelier high above sputtered to life, casting a dim, wavering light over a grand foyer. A wide staircase curved upwards into shadows.
âWould you like a drink?â he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the vast space. He was still playing the part of the host, but the act was paper-thin. You could see the tension in every line of his body, the barely-restrained need.
You shook your head. You were done with pretending. You turned to face him, reached up, grabbed his face, pulling his mouth down to yours.
His lips were soft, just like you remembered from the touch on your glove, but they moved against yours with a hunger. You opened your mouth to him and his tongue plunged inside, tasting of whiskey and something awfully metallic. You moaned into his mouth, your hands sliding from his jacket to tangle in his hair. It was as soft as it looked.
He walked you backward, his mouth never leaving yours, until your back hit the cold stone wall next to the staircase. The impact jarred you so much you broke the kiss for a second. You were both panting. His eyes were wild, his pupils blown wide, leaving only a thin ring of green and a string of saliva connecting both of your tongues.
âUpstairs,â he managed to say. âNow.â
You didnât need telling twice. You took the stairs two at a time, him right behind you, his hand on the small of your back as if he was afraid youâd vanish. The hallway upstairs was dark, but he seemed to know exactly where he was going. He pushed open a heavy door and pulled you inside his bedroom.
It was large, dominated by an enormous four-poster bed with dark velvet hangings. A fireplace held cold ashes. Books were piled on every available surface. Moonlight streamed in through a tall, narrow window.
The door clicked shut behind you. You were on him again in an instant, kissing him roughly, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. He let it fall to the floor. Your hands went to the buttons of his waistcoat, fumbling in your haste. He helped you, tearing it open, sending buttons pinging across the wooden floor. His shirt followed, ripped open down the front. You ran your hands over his chest. His skin was pale, almost luminous in the moonlight, stretched tight over hard muscle. He was perfect.
You kissed him again, your tongue sweeping into his mouth. And thatâs when you felt them. The sharp points.
You froze. Your tongue had glided right over them. Two elongated canines, sharp as needles.
You pulled back, breaking the kiss with a wet sound. Your eyes flew open. You stared at his mouth. His lips were red and wet from your kiss. He wasnât smiling. He was watching you, his expression unreadable.
âErenâŚâ you whispered.
His eyes began to shine. Not a trick of the light. They literally glowed from within, a eerie emerald light. âSurprise,â he said, his voice a low rasp.
Before you could react, he moved. It was too fast for a human. One second he was in front of you, the next you were on your back on the giant bed, the velvet covers soft beneath you. He was on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head with one large hand. His weight was immense.
He lowered his head to your neck. You felt the warm puff of his breath against your skin. He inhaled deeply, his nose tracing the line of your jugular. Something had been bugging you ever since you met him. He was always so gentle yet so mysterious. Mostly out at night.
âI knew it,â you breathed, more to yourself than to him.
âKnew what?â he murmured against your skin. His lips brushed the frantic pulse there.
âThat you were different. Dangerous.â
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. âDangerous is one word for it.â He licked a stripe up your neck, from your collarbone to your ear. You gasped. His tongue felt like fire. âYouâre different too, you know. From the others.â
âOthers?â You tried to twist, but he held you easily.
âThe women,â he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. His mouth was right by your ear. âThe ones who go missing. The papers have it all wrong. Itâs not a man with a knife. Itâs a man with fangs.â He kissed just below your earlobe. âMost of them⌠theyâre just food. A quick drink in an alley, a body dumped in the river. Easy. Forgettable.â
His free hand came up and cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. His glowing eyes were terrifying, beautiful. âBut you⌠I saw you that first night. On that stage. You shone. Like a fucking beacon. I couldnât just take you. I had to have you. All of you.â
His confession should have horrified you. It shocked you. But it also sent a flood of heat straight to your core. You were wet, so wet you could feel it soaking through your silk panties. The monster had chosen you. Not to kill quickly, but to⌠to what?
âMy latest prey,â he whispered, nuzzling your neck again. âBut I donât want to just drain you dry. Not yet. I want to taste you. I want to fuck you while I drink from you. I want to feel you cum on my cock while your blood is on my tongue.â
The filthiness of his words, the raw, graphic hunger in them, made you whimper. Your hips bucked up against him involuntarily. You felt it, his erect dick, still confined in his trousers, press against your center.
âYou want that too,â he observed, his voice smug. âI can smell it on you. The fear⌠and the want. Theyâre mixing together. Itâs intoxicating.â
He shifted his weight, releasing your wrists. Before you could move, his hands were on the straps of your dress. He pulled them down your arms in one rough motion, baring your torso to the waist. The beaded silk pooled around your hips. The cold air hit your skin, making your nipples harden instantly. He stared down at your breasts, his glowing eyes full of a reverence that was completely at odds with the things heâd just said.
âSo beautiful,â he murmured. He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth.
You cried out, arching off the bed. His mouth was hot, his tongue rough as it lashed over the sensitive peak. He sucked, hard, drawing the flesh deep into his mouth, his fangs scraping delicately against the areola. The combination of him being a threat and searing pleasure was dizzying. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same torturous attention, biting and sucking until you were squirming beneath him, your fingers clutching at the velvet bedspread.
âPlease,â you heard yourself beg.
He lifted his head. His lips and chin were slick with your scent, with his saliva. âPlease what?â His hand slid down your stomach, over the silk of your dress bunched at your hips, and cupped your covered up pussy between your legs. You gasped, your eyes rolling back. He pressed the heel of his hand against your clothed clit. âTell me what you want, sweetheart."
âI want you to bite me,â you blurted out.
His eyes flashed brighter. âYeah?â
âYes. Do it.â
A grin spread across his face. âOfcourse, sweetheart.â
He dove for your neck again. This time, there was no preamble. You felt the piercing pain, twin points of exquisite pressure breaking your skin. You gasped so hard it felt like the air was caught in your throat. For a second, it was just pain.
Then it changed.
A wave of pure pleasure washed over you, so intense it bordered on pain itself. It started at the point where his fangs were buried in your flesh and radiated outward, a molten heat that flooded your veins, pooled in your belly, made your toes curl. Your back arched violently off the bed. A long, broken moan was torn from your throat.
He groaned against your neck, the sound vibrating through out your entire body. He was drinking, swallowing, his throat working. And with each pull, another wave of that impossible pleasure crashed through you. It was an aphrodisiac. Ofcourse. Your mind went blank, white noise and fireworks. You were grinding yourself against his hand, which was still pressed against you, desperate for more friction.
âFuck,â he snarled, pulling his mouth from your neck with a wet pop. Blood, your blood, smeared his lips, dripped down his chin. His eyes were blazing. âYou taste⌠fuck.â
He kissed you, hard. You could taste your own blood on his tongue. It should have been disgusting. It was the most erotic thing youâd ever experienced. You kissed him back greedily, sucking on his tongue, licking the blood from his lips.
He broke the kiss, breathing raggedly. âYouâre mine now,â he said, his voice guttural. âYou understand that, don't you?"
In that moment, swimming in the haze of blood-loss euphoria and lust, you didnât care. âYes,â you panted.
He finally moved his hand from between your legs to yank at your dress, pulling it and your stockings down your hips and legs in one frantic motion. He tossed them off the side of the bed. You were left in just your silk panties, which were soaked through, a dark patch visible even in the dim light. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and ripped them off you, the sound of tearing silk loud in the room.
They were one of your good pairs but you didn't give a shit right now.
He stared down at your naked body with a ravenous gaze. He leaned down and kissed your stomach, licking a path between your legs. You tensed, expecting his mouth on your dripping, plump cunt, but he didnât stop. He kissed the inside of your thigh, his stubble rough against your sensitive skin, then bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make you jump and cry out.
âSo responsive,â he muttered against your flesh. His fingers moving slowly against your dripping folds. His fingers moved slowly against your dripping folds. They traced the outer lips, slick with your wetness, the pads of his fingers barely touching you. He was mocking you. Drawing out the moment, making you wait. You whimpered, lifting your hips off the bed in a silent plea for more pressure.
"None of that," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against the skin of your thigh. He pressed a kiss to the bite mark he'd left there, then returned his attention between your legs. His fingers continued their maddening exploration, sliding up and down your slit, gathering wetness, but avoiding the spot that ached for him. He parted your lips with two fingers, exposing the glistening, flushed pink flesh within. Your pussy was swollen, the hood of your clit visible and sensitive to the cool air. You were completely bare, having learned long ago that hair could complicate things, could hold a scent you didn't want lingering.
He blew a cool stream of air across your exposed core. You shuddered, a full-body twitch that made the velvet covers rustle. "Fuck, Eren, please," you begged, your voice cracking.
"Please what?" he asked, his tone conversational, as if he were asking about the weather. He dragged a single fingertip from the bottom of your slit all the way to the top, circling your clit once, so lightly it was torture. "You have to use your words."
"Touch me. Fucking touch me properly."
He chuckled. "As you wish."
His middle finger dipped inside you, just the tip, breaching your entrance. You gasped. Your inner walls clenched around nothing, desperate for more. He withdrew it, then pushed back in, a little deeper this time. In, out. A shallow, teasing penetration. You could feel the drag of his finger, the wet sounds it made. "Yeah, moan just like that." He added a second finger, stretching you slightly. The stretch was good, but it wasn't enough. He kept the pace slow.
He was doing this on purpose.
"Look at you," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "So wet. So needy. I've barely touched you and you're soaking my hand."
You turned your head to the side, embarrassed by how exposed you were, how desperate. But he wasn't having it. His free hand came up, grabbed your chin, forced you to look down at him. His eyes were still glowing, that eerie green light making him look otherworldly. "Watch," he commanded.
You obeyed. You watched as his fingers disappeared inside you, then reappeared, coated in your slick. "Aghh, fuck yes, yes." He pumped them in deeper, curling them slightly. When he found that spot inside you, that bundle of nerves that made stars burst behind your eyelids, you cried out. Your back arched, your hands fisted in the velvet. "AAGH!"
"There it is," he said with a grin. He stroked that spot again, and again, his fingers moving faster now. The wet sounds grew louder, obscene in the otherwise silent room. Your thighs began to tremble. He added a third finger, stretching you wider, filling you more. The sensation was overwhelming. His thumb found your clit, pressed down on it in small circles, so much so you could feel the roughness of his finger going over your clit before getting slicked with your wetness.
"Oh god, oh fuck, yeesss" you panted. Your hips were moving of their own accord now, grinding down onto his hand, meeting each thrust of his fingers. The pleasure was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach. He was watching you with rapt attention, his mouth slightly open, his fangs visible. He licked his lips at the sight of you.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Ride my fingers. Take what you need. Don't stop till you had your fill."
His fingers moved faster, harder. The sound of your wetness was filthy. You could feel it running down, wetting the sheets beneath you. It was making you dizzy. "Oh yes. Oh fuck yes!" His thumb rubbed your clit in tight, fast circles. The combination was too much. You felt the orgasm building, felt it racing toward you like a train. Your inner walls started to flutter around his fingers.
"Eren, I'm-I'm gonna-"
"Come on, songbird" he growled. "Cum on my hand. Let me see you clench around these fingers."
You shattered. The orgasm ripped through you with such intensity that you screamed. "Eren aghhh!" Your body convulsed, your pussy clenching around his fingers, gripping them tight, just like he asked. But, he didn't stop. He kept pumping them in and out, kept circling your clit, drawing out your climax until you were sobbing, tears streaming down your face from the intensity. He was such a bastard. And that turned you on even more. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you, each one leaving you more wrecked than the last. "Shit, baby yes."
Finally, it subsided. Your body went limp, boneless against the bed. He withdrew his fingers slowly. You felt empty without them. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought his hand up to his face. His fingers were glistening, dripping with your release. He held your gaze as he slipped them into his mouth, one by one, sucking them clean. His eyes fluttered closed, and he moaned like he was tasting the finest wine.
"Fucking delicious," he murmured when he'd licked every trace of you from his skin.
Something in you shifted. The post-orgasmic bliss began to fade, replaced by a different kind of hunger. You sat up slowly, your breast exposed to the firelight as you sat up straight. Eren watched them move for a second before he locked his eyes on yours again. Curiosity began to flicker in his glowing eyes. You crawled toward him on your hands and knees across the bed. He was still mostly dressed, his shirt torn open, his trousers tented obscenely at the front. You straddled him, settling your bare, wet pussy against the bulge in his pants.
He hissed, his hands coming to your hips, massaging them tenderly. "What are you doing?"
You didn't answer. You started to move, rolling your hips, grinding yourself against him. Even through the fabric, you could feel how hard he was, how big. The friction against your sensitive clit made you gasp and lean your head back for a moment. "Oh fuck," You braced your hands on his shoulders and moved faster, chasing another high.
Your folds gliding across the fabric making it wetter and wetter. It was so erotic and addicting to look at, you even brought your fingers to your mouth, coating them in saliva, before bringing them down to rub at your clit.
"Fuck," he breathed, his grip on your hips tightening. He was watching your face, watching the way your mouth fell open, the way your eyes glazed over. You leaned forward, bringing your face to his neck. You inhaled deeply. He smelled incredible. That sandwood and something like coffee, but underneath it, something richer. Copper.
Blood.
You licked a stripe up the column of his throat. His pulse was there, fast beneath his pale skin. You opened your mouth and let your teeth glid across his neck for a moment. "You smell so good, Eren." He groaned, his hips bucking up against you. As you did the same letting out a moan right next to his ear. You took your hand and brought it to the other side of his neck, whispering again.
"I'm a bit thirsty too."
You bit down, not hard enough to break skin. Not yet. You sucked at the spot, leaving a mark. Then you opened your mouth wider, positioned your teeth right between his shoulder and neck, and bit down hard.
Your fangs sank into his flesh with ease.
Eren went rigid beneath you. His entire body locked up. "What the, oh fuck!" He was stunned to say the least. He couldn't stop himself from bucking up into you harder. Grabbing at your backside and spreading it as you drank his blood.
Its been a while since you had blood like this. This rich, this delectable, this addicting. "Mmm."
You pulled back slightly, blood flooding your mouth. His blood. You swallowed, then slowly licked the puncture wounds, feeling them begin to close already. You smiled down at him with a wicked grin. You knew what you must look like. Your bottom lip smeared with his blood, your eyes probably glowing now too, that telltale amber light that came with feeding.
"Surprise," you said, throwing his own word back at him.
His eyes were wide, shocked. His mouth opened and closed, no words coming out. You could see his mind working, trying to process what had just happened. You ground down on him again, reminding him of where you were, what you were doing.
"There is no way" he finally managed.
"A girl has to wat right?" you said. You leaned down, licked another stripe up his neck, tasting the remnants of his blood on his skin. "Did you really think you were the only monster in this city?"
"The missing people," he said, the pieces clicking into place. He didn't look scared or angry, he looked impressed and turned on. "You're the one thats been killing recently,huh?"
"Mhm," you confirmed. You sat back, still straddling him, still moving your hips in lazy circles. You could feel your cunt gripping at nothing. "The men mostly. And some women that piss me off. " You tilted your head, regarding him with amusement. "That night you found me, when I was running? I knew there was someone there." You ground down on him harder, causing him to moan and smack your ass in return. You moaned before speaking again, keeping your hips grinding against his clothed cock.
"I knew. I knew some bad man was chasing me. I made my prey think I was helpless. Works every time. They always want to play hero, but then you showed up and interrupted my meal."
"Jesus Christ," he muttered.
"Not quite," you said with a laugh. You reached between your bodies, started unbuttoning his trousers. "You wanted to eat me. I'm here now." You looked deep into his eyes as you brought your thumb to your lips to wipe his blood off and brought it to his plump pink lips.
He smiled before taking your thumb into his mouth and sucking the blood, his blood off of it. You leaned down and whispered. "Undo me, Eren."
Something snapped in him. You saw it happen, saw the shock morph into something hungrier. His hands went from your hips to your ass, gripping hard enough to bruise. "You're fucking insane," he said.
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Not at all, sweetheart. Its hot as hell."
You freed him from his trousers, pulling his cock out. It sprang up between you. A nude pink at the tip. It was beautiful. Long, with veins running along the shaft, a slight curve that you knew would hit all the right spots. Precum was already beading at the slit. You wrapped your hand around it, gave it a slow stroke, It was so damn hard, not to jump on his cock right now. He was hot in your palm, rock hard. He groaned, his head falling back against the pillows. "Mmmm fuck baby."
"You've been thinking about this," you said, stroking him again. "Haven't you? All those nights watching me sing. You were thinking about fucking me." You were teasing, licking up the side of his dick for a moment.
"Every goddamn night," he admitted through gritted teeth. "I'd go home and jerk off thinking about you. About bending you over that piano. About making you scream my name." Oh, he was obsessed. You loved the kind of man who could only see you, it made you clench again.
"Dirty boy," you purred. You ground your wet pussy against his cock, coating him in your slick wetness. The head of his dick bumped against your clit and you moaned. "I want to...fuck you so bad right now." You were so wet, so ready. You could just sink down on him right now, take him all the way inside. But you wanted to draw this out. Wanted to make him suffer the way he'd made you suffer.
You kissed him, pushing your tounge into his mouth and just exploring. He kissed you back just as roughly, his hands roaming your body, squeezing your ass, your breasts, your waist as you continued to slid your wet fold on his dick. "Mmm!" He moaned against your mouth as he slapped your ass. You bit his bottom lip, drawing blood before sucking on it and catching his eyes. "You taste so good, Eren." He growled into your mouth, retaliating by biting yours. The pain was exquisite.
You both took turns sucking on tounges, or biting lips as your hands traveled over eachkthers bodies. Everything about it was just invigorating.
You pulled back, breathless. You looked down at him. His hair was a mess, his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen and bloody. He looked completely debauched and you loved it. "I want to taste you."
Before he could respond, you slid off him, off the bed. Your knees hit the floor, the plush carpet soft beneath them. The fireplace across the room had ignited somehow during your activities, maybe Eren had done it, or maybe it was just the heat between you both, and firelight danced across your skin, painting you in shades of orange and gold.
Eren sat up, moved to the edge of the bed. His legs spread, his cock jutting up between them, still hard and leaking. You settled between his thighs, looking up at him with those doe eyes you use. "You want me to put this dick in my mouth?" His eyes were locked on yours, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. "Yeah...suck my dick, sweetheart."
You leaned forward, licked the underside of his cock from base to tip. He tasted like musk and skin, it left you even more wet, your wetness soaking the carpet. He hissed, his hands fisting in the sheets. You did it again, slower this time, tracing the thick vein with your tongue. Then you took the head into your mouth, sucking gently.
"Oh fuck," he groaned.
You hummed around him, the vibration making him twitch. You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, creating suction. You could only fit about half of him in your mouth before he hit the back of your throat. You pulled back, took a breath, then went down again, trying to take more. Saliva pooled in your mouth, dripping down his shaft, making everything slick and messy.
You pulled off with a wet pop, looked up at him. His eyes were glowing brighter now, his fangs fully extended. He looked feral. You smiled, then spit on his cock. The glob of saliva slid down his length. You wrapped both hands around him, started stroking him, using your spit as lubricant. You twisted your wrists with each upstroke, paid special attention to the head, rubbing your thumb over the sensitive spot just beneath it.
"Goddamn," he panted. His hips were moving now, fucking up into your hands. "That mouth. Fuck."
You leaned down, took one of his balls into your mouth, sucking gently while your hands continued their work on his cock. He groaned, one of his hands coming down to tangle in your hair. Not pulling, just holding. Grounding himself. You switched to the other one, gave it the same treatment, then licked your way back up his shaft.
This time when you took him in your mouth, you didn't hold back. You relaxed your throat, pushed past your gag reflex, and took him all the way down. Your nose pressed against the coarse hair at his base. You held there for a moment, swallowing around him, feeling him pulse in your throat. Then you pulled back, gasping for air, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock.
You did it again. And again. Each time taking him deep, each time coming up gasping and drooling. Your eyes were watering, your jaw aching, but you didn't care. You loved the way he fell apart, the way his thighs trembled, the way he moaned your name like a prayer.
"I'm close," he warned, his voice strained. "If you don't want me to come in your mouth, you better-"
You took him deep again, sucked hard, and felt him explode. His cock pulsed, hot ropes of cum shooting down your throat. You swallowed it all, kept sucking, milking him through his orgasm. He was moaning, a long, low sound that vibrated through the room. When he finally stopped, you pulled off, licked him clean, then sat back on your heels.
He was staring at you like you'd just performed a miracle. His chest was heaving, his skin flushed. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning up at him.
"Holy shit," he breathed.
You stood up, but before you could say anything, he was on you. He moved with vampire speed, grabbing you, lifting you. Your legs wrapped around his waist automatically as you yelped in surprise. "Oh you're eag-" He kissed you, hard, cutting you off. You could taste yourself on his tongue, just as he could taste himself on yours. His cock, still hard despite having just cum, pressed against your entrance. "Mmmm, holy..shit!"
You ground down against him, coating him in your wetness again. "Its not even in me yet and I want to cum." The stimulation made you both moan into each other's mouths. He walked you backward, then sideways, navigating the room by memory. Then you were falling. Your back hit the bed, the velvet covers soft beneath your skin. He came down on top of you as his weight pinned you down.
He reached between your bodies, grabbed his cock, positioned it at your entrance. You felt the blunt head pressing against you, beginning to stretch you open. Your breath caught. "You got it baby. Deep breathes." He pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch was intense. He was bigger than his fingers, thicker, and you felt every bit of him as he filled you. "Aaagghhhh fuuuuuck!"
"Fuck, you're tight," he groaned. "So fucking tight."
You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "Don't stop," you panted. "Don't you dare fucking stop."
He bottomed out, his hips flush against yours. You were completely full, stretched to your limit. "AAGGHH YES!" He stayed there for a moment, letting you adjust. You could feel him pulsing inside you, could feel your walls clenching around him. Then he pulled back, almost all the way out, and slammed back in.
You screamed. The pleasure was blinding. He set a brutal pace, pounding into you with abandon. The bed shook with each thrust, the headboard slamming against the wall. The sounds were obscene and so fucking good all at the same time. Skin slapping against skin, the wet squelch of your pussy taking his cock in further into your gummy walls, both of your moans and gasps.
"Yeah, little songbird. Sing for me."
He grabbed your wrists, pinned them above your head with one hand. His other hand went to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there. His hips pistoned, driving into you over and over and over again. Each thrust hit that spot inside you, that sweet spot that made you see stars, made your mind go blank, made you shiver and tremble.
"That's it," he growled. "Take it. Take my cock."
"R-right..there!"
He obliged. His grip on your wrists tightened, his hand on your throat squeezed slightly, cutting off just enough air to make your head spin. He fucked you like he hasn't fucked in decades, each thrust driving you up the bed and the headboard intk the wall. You were going to come again. You could feel it building, faster this time, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter.
"Come oooooonnn," he urged. "Cum on my cock. Let me feel that pussy, baby."
You came with a shout, your body convulsing beneath him. Your pussy clamped down on his cock, milking him dry, or so you though. Yet again, he didn't stop. He kept fucking you through your orgasm, prolonging it, making it go on and on until you were sobbing. "Eren...baby please- I- I..."
But he wasn't done. Not even close.
He pulled out of you suddenly, flipped you onto your stomach. You were still shaking from your orgasm, but he didn't give you time to recover. He grabbed your hips, pulled them up so your ass was in the air. Then he was inside you again, slamming in from behind.
This angle was even deeper. You buried your face in the pillows, muffling your screams. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks, using them as leverage to pull you back onto his cock with each thrust. He watched as your ass bounced and recoiled with every thrust. The sight was a sight to behold. The sound of his balls slapping against your pussy was loud in the room and was making you wetter every second.
He leaned over you, his chest against your back, his mouth at your ear. "You feel so fucking good," he panted. "So. Fucking. Good. Keep taking this dick."
You turned your head, trying to look at him. He saw the challenge in your eyes and grinned. He slowly pulled out, feeling your tight hole try to cling to it. He smiled before flipping you onto your back again, then drove back inside in a maddening pace. This time he hooked your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half. The new angle made him hit even deeper, made you feel impossibly full.
"Look at you," he said, his voice rough. "Look at you taking my dick. Fuck, you're beautiful like this."
You were drooling, you realized. Couldn't help it. The pleasure was too much, your mind had gone blank. All you could focus on was the feeling of him inside you, stretching you, filling you, ruining you. Your eyes were glowing, you knew. That amber light that came when you were feeding or feeling intense emotion.
Eren noticed. His grin turned predatory. He leaned down, his hair falling into his face, creating a curtain around both of you. "There she is," he murmured.
He bit into your neck again, in the same spot as before. You screamed, the combination of his fangs in your flesh and his cock in your pussy sending you into another orgasm. This one was different, more intense, bordering on painful. Your entire body seized up, every muscle locking. You couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
He drank from you as he fucked you, swallowing mouthfuls of your blood. The aphrodisiac effect worked both ways. You could feel it flooding through him, making him harder, making him fuck you with renewed vigor. His thrusts became erratic, losing their rhythm.
He pulled his mouth from your neck, blood dripping from his fangs. "Whose pussy is this?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.
"Yours," you gasped.
"Say it again."
"It's yours, Eren. My pu- pussy is yours!"
"Mhmmm."
He changed the angle again, somehow finding a way to go even deeper. His balls slapped against you with every thrust, the sound vulgar and perfect. He reached between your bodies, found your clit, rubbed it in fast circles with two fingers as he pressed down. You were going to cum again. How many times was this now? You'd lost count.
"Sing for me," he commanded. "Sing like you do at that lounge. Let me hear that pretty voice scream."
You did. You screamed his name as another orgasm tore through you. "Errreeeennn!" You screamed until your voice went hoarse, until your throat was raw. He kept fucking you through it, kept rubbing your clit, drawing it out until you were thrashing beneath him, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation.
"Don't run from it," he growled, holding you in place. "Stay right here. Let me keep fucking this pussy."
You were crying now, tears streaming down your face. It was too much. Too good. Your body didn't know whether to chase the pleasure or flee from it. "I can't," you sobbed. "I can't take anymore." You were thrashing a bit, your heels digging deeper into the bed.
"Yes you can, sweetheart" he said firmly. "You can take it. You're going to take everything I give you."
He shifted again, pulling your legs off his shoulders, pushing them wide, opening you up even more. He leaned over you, his face inches from yours, his hair creating that curtain again. His hips snapped forward, each thrust making your whole body jolt.
"Look at you taking this dick," he said, his voice full of wonder and lust. "Fuck, baby. You're sucking me in like this and you wanted me to stop?" He started moving faster and faster as you leaned your head back and screamed his name. "Eren fuuuuuuuccckkk!"
He smiled and laughed as he began to get louder. "Yeah baby, sing for me."
He sat up slightly, grabbed your hips, and really let loose. He pounded into you with everything he had, the bed shaking so hard you thought it might break. Your breasts bounced with each impact, and he couldn't seem to look away from them. He leaned down, took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard you though he might draw a bit of blood. You arched into him, your hands flying to his hair, holding him against you. "Yes, aghh baby please."
He bit down on your nipple, his fangs piercing the sensitive flesh. You screamed again, the pain mixing with pleasure in a way that shouldn't make sense but did. "Yes, yes, yes!" He drank from you there too, just a few mouthfuls, then moved to the other breast, gave it the same treatment. You were covered in bite marks now, marks that would heal by tomorrow but for now made you look thoroughly claimed.
"I'm close," he grunted, his rhythm stuttering. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum." You could feel him rearranging your insides as your drool trailed down the side of your mouth towards your scalp. "I..I..I..."
He held your waist, his fingers making mark in your skin as he leaned down towards your ear, his breath tickling your skin. "Use those words, sweetheart." You swallowed as he continued to pound deeper and deeper into to your aching cunt. "Cum..inside..."
"Yeah, you want me to fill you up, watch my cum eack out your wet pussy, huh?" You didn't say anything, couldn't do anything but moan and gasp. That seemed to make him want to go harder. As he drove into you faster, your vison became hazy.
Your brain was nothing but fog.
You've never felt anything like this in your life. He grabbed your chin, licking away your drool before whispering against your lips, "I said use your words, songbird. You want me to cum inside your cunt?"
You somehow found your voice, even if it was small. "Yes." He smiled against your lips as he moved faster, his balls slapping against your in-between your legs. You were crying getting louder as he reached into the deepest part of you, making you jolt a bit in the air. "Holy fuck yes!"
That pushed him over the edge. He slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and came with a loud moan of his own. You felt him pulsing inside you, felt the hot flood of his release coating your walls. It triggered one more orgasm in you, smaller but no less intense. You clenched around him, milking every last drop from his cock.
He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting, covered in sweat and blood and other fluids. Your heart was racing, your body completely spent. He was still inside you, softening slowly. You didn't want him to pull out yet. You wanted to stay connected like this, joined together.
Eventually, he rolled off you, pulling out with a wet sound. You both hissed at the loss. You laid there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. Your thighs were trembling, your pussy was sore and used, it would heal soon but, damn. You could feel his cum leaking out of you, running down the inside of your thighs and onto the bed.
Eren propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you. He reached between your legs, gathered some of his release on his fingers, making you jolt a bjt as his finger tips brushed across your clit.. Then he brought them to your lips. Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, sucked his fingers clean. The taste was salty, bitter, but nonetheless delicious. You licked between his fingers, making sure you got every drop and making sure you kept your eyes locked on his.
"Jesus," he muttered, watching you with dark eyes.
You released his fingers, smiled up at him. For a long moment, you both just looked at each other. Your glows were fading now, eyes returning to their normal colors. The room was a mess. The sheets were soaked with various fluids, pillows scattered across the floor, the headboard had left dents in the wall. You both looked like you'd been through a war.
It sure as hell felt like it.
After a few minutes, you found your voice again. Stronger than the last time. You looked over at him, your hair laid out on the mattress below as you spoke. "How long have you been a vampire?"
He laughed. He flopped onto his back beside you with a grunt as he sighed and put a hand under his head, looking up at the ceiling as the light from the fireplace made weird shadows. "About sixty years." His head turned to look at you as he spoke in a whisper now. "And what about you?"
"Seventy-three," you said. "Turned in 1857."
"1867," he confirmed. He turned his head to look at the ceiling again before looking at you once more. "And you've been hunting in this city how long?"
"Two years," you said. "Yo-"
"Three."
You chuckled at that and placed yohr hand on your chest before letting out a sigh. "And we never crossed paths until six months ago."
"Funny how that works." He laughed just the same. You both laid there silently listening to the wood in the fireplace burn as you were trying to catch up. You turned onto your side, your hair falling to the side of your face and tilted your head ever so slightly. He mirrored your position. You reached out, traced a finger down his chest, following the drying blood smears. "What now?" you asked.
He caught your soft hand in his, brought it to his beautiful pink lips, and kissed your palm. "Now I think we might have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
His green eyes met yours, and something in them made your breath catch. "I don't think I can let you go." You sat there stunned for a while before sitting up and over him, letting your hair fall over both of your faces. You whispered with a smile.
đŠâ¤ď¸đŞ â ę° đźituationship đźukuna ęą gets used for convenience by the bitchiest girl heâs ever met â and he wouldnât want it any other way
cw. rough sex, bratty/bitchy!reader, power play, spitting (in mouth), squirting, face grabbing, light choking, hickeys/biting, overstim, praise/degradation mix, toxic dynamics, repost
âcome over.â
he reads it at 12:42am. the little âreadâ stamp lights up and you donât follow it with anything else, because you donât need to. youâre not in the mood for back and forth.
not tonight. youâre already on your bed, shirt off, thighs parted, phone sliding out of your hand into the mess of sheets behind you. nothing soft is playingâjust the low hum of the city and your own breathing.
youâre not horny for him. youâre just horny. bored. overstimulated by everything and underwhelmed by everyone. and sukuna? heâs nearby. heâs easy. he listens.
the door clicks open exactly sixteen minutes later. not a knock. not a call. he lets himself in like he always does, like he lives here, like he has a right to walk into your space without warningâand youâre already backlit by the glow of your salt lamp, one hand tucked under your head, one leg bent, mouth glossed and eyes half-lidded like you were expecting him to take longer.
he looks you over, head tilting, lip pierced and smug, tattoo peeking from under his hoodie collar like itâs daring you to look.
âdidnât know i was a fucking vending machine,â he says, voice rough, cocky, with that stupid glint in his eye that says he came the second you asked. âyou just press a button and out comes the dick?â
you donât even blink. âyouâre here, arenât you?â
he scoffs under his breath but toes off his sneakers anyway, pulling his hoodie over his head as he walks toward the bed. you watch him do it with your chin propped up on your palm, already shifting your hips, the thin cotton of your panties wet and sticking between your legs, not because you missed himâjust because heâs good at this. or at least, good at being used.
âyou could say please once in a while,â he mutters, dragging his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor with the rest of his self-respect. âmight be nice to be wanted instead of just summoned.â
âif you want nice, fuck a girl who makes you pancakes in the morning.â
he snorts, licking his bottom lip like heâs already picturing it. âyeah? what do i get here? a woman with a wet pussy and a god complex?â
âpretty much.â
you open your legs wider. he shuts the fuck up.
he climbs onto the bed, slow, the mattress dipping under his weight as he leans over you. thereâs something mean in his mouth, but it never makes it out. instead, he kisses you, rough and deep, all tongue and attitude. you kiss back with a smirk, biting his bottom lip just enough to sting, then pulling away.
âtake your pants off.â
âjesus christ,â he breathes, but his hands are already on the waistband. âwhat do you say?â
you lift your brows, slow, letting your eyes rake over his stomach, the trail of ink crawling up his ribs like itâs been begging to be traced, tongue first. youâre not even touching him yet and heâs half hard, sweats pulled halfway down his hips, that mouth still trying to run even though his bodyâs already lost the battle. your tongue clicks against your teeth.
âi say hurry up.â
he laughs through his nose like he canât believe you, like youâre a fever he hasnât figured out how to sweat out yet. âyou know youâre a fucking brat, right?â
âyou say that like itâs new.â
ânah. just tryna figure out when youâre gonna admit this means something.â
you roll your eyes, but it stings more than it should. you shove his pants down and straddle him without giving him the satisfaction of a response, your pantied cunt brushing against his thigh as you shift forward. âdonât start that shit.â
âwhat shit?â he grins, that sharp grin, the one that means he knows exactly what buttons heâs pressing. âyou called me. not the other way around. what, you think i donât know what this is?â
you lean down, mouth brushing his jaw, voice low. âthis is me using you to cum.â
he growls, something frustrated and half-laughing as he flips you back before you can grind down again, big hands catching your wrists and pinning them above your head against the mattress.
echoes of silence by the weeknd hums from your tv speaker behind him, low, the bass slow and thudding like a pulse youâre both pretending not to feel. his face is inches from yours. his breath smells like mint and weed. his eyes are locked on your mouth like heâs trying to decide whether to kiss it or shut it up for good.
âthen ride me,â he says, letting your wrists go. âcome on, baby. show me how in control you are.â
you stare at him for a long moment, breathing hard. his cock is heavy and hard between his thighs, glistening with precum, and you want to wipe that look off his face. you want to take it all and leave nothing behind.
you push him flat with a palm to his chest.
âhands behind your head,â you say.
âyes, maâam.â his grin is feral. he laces his fingers behind his head and sinks into the pillows like heâs watching the best show of his life.
âjust donât beg for more.â
you roll your eyes again, but slide your panties to the side and your cunt clenches when you line him up. the head catches at your entrance, thick and warm, and you sink down in one slow, brutal motion, biting your lip so you donât give him the noise he wants. you feel him all the way up, your walls fluttering around him, hips stuttering when your clit grazes his pelvis.
he groans beneath you. âfuck, you always take me like you hate me.â
âi do.â
âno, you donât,â he mutters, eyes locked on yours. âyou just hate that you like me.â
you slap your hand over his mouth and start to move.
your pace is mean. tight little circles, grinding your clit against the base of him with every slow, dragging rock of your hips. your thighs burn but you donât stop. you chase it. you ride him like youâre proving a point. the weekndâs voice washes over the room, crooning about silence and desperation and something ugly that feels too close to the truth.
he moans against your palm. his eyes flutter. his abs tighten. heâs so fucking deep inside you, the stretch dizzying, and it only spurs you onâgrinding, bouncing, taking him again and again until your cuntâs so slick itâs all you can hear besides the music and his ragged breathing.
âyou like this?â you whisper, removing your hand. âbeing used like this?â
his head tips back, chest heaving. âi love it. i fucking love it.â
âyou wanna stay tonight?â
he blinks up at you, dazed. â...do you?â
you slow down. your hips roll deeper, more sensual. his hands twitch behind his head. he looks like he wants to touch you so bad he might explode.
you lean down, hands braced on his chest, mouth a hair away from his.
âno.â
and then you kiss him.
filthy. greedy. too much tongue and too much spit. your mouths move like youâre arguing without words, like neither of you knows how to be soft but you canât stop trying to bite it out of each other.
his hands break free, finally, grabbing at your waist, your ass, your back, like heâs trying to pull you closer than your own skin. his hips buck up into you, rhythm brutal, and you take it, you take all of it, nails dragging down his chest as your moans catch between kisses.
his mouth is hot and open and angry, tongue pushing past yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip until you hiss and pull back just enough to glare at him.
âdonât fucking look at me like that,â he mutters, breath ragged, pupils blown wide. âyou donât get to ride me like that and then act like iâm done.â
you scoff, breathless, grinding down once more just to feel him twitch inside you, just to remind him who started this. âwhat, you gonna cry about it?â
thatâs when he snaps.
he flips you so fast the room tilts, the mattress creaking as your back hits the sheets and his weight settles over you, one knee between your thighs, one hand pinning your wrist above your head while the other drags down your body like heâs reacquainting himself with something that already belongs to him.
âsay it again,â he growls, mouth trailing down your jaw, your neck. âsay you donât want me.â
you arch up into him instead, teeth catching his lip, dragging it between your own until he groans. âyou donât scare me, sukuna.â
his laugh is sharp and humorless, breath hot against your throat. âyeah? good. âcause iâm not trying to.â
he bites you thenâhard, right at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, teeth sinking in deep enough that you gasp and curse, hands breaking free, your nails finding their way to rake down his back on instinct. he sucks the mark dark, tongue pressing over it like heâs sealing it in, like he wants it visible tomorrow, like he wants someone else to see it and wonder. your cunt clenches around him at the same time, slick and greedy, and he feels it. of course he does.
âfucking slut,â he murmurs against your skin, not gentle, not kind. âlook at you. all attitude until i put you on your back.â
âfuck you,â you spit, but it comes out broken when he pulls almost all the way out and then slams back in, hips snapping forward with zero warning, the impact knocking the air out of your lungs.
he fucks you hard and deep now, no patience, no teasing, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room, mixing with the low ache of the song playing like it was made for moments exactly like this.
you wrap your legs around his waist, dragging him closer even as you glare up at him, even as you refuse to kiss him again. âdonât get it twisted,â you pant. âthis doesnât mean shit.â
he leans down, forehead pressing to yours, eyes dark and burning. âthen why are you holding me like that?â
you hate that he noticed. you hate that heâs right.
he shifts his angle just enough to make you cry out, cock hitting that spot that makes your vision blur, makes your thighs shake. his mouth finds yours again, but this time itâs slower, messierâtongue dragging, teeth clicking, breath shared and frantic. he bites your lip, then your jaw, then kisses the sting like he regrets nothing.
âyou always try to leave before i get like this,â he mutters between thrusts. âalways wanna pretend iâm just convenient.â
âyou are,â you gasp, fingers tangling in his hair despite yourself.
he grins, feral. âyeah? then why do you let me fuck you like iâm staying?â
his pace turns brutal again, punishing, hips snapping forward as his hand slides down to where your bodies meet, thumb circling your clit with just enough pressure to make your back arch. you curse his name this time. canât help it. he hears it and moans like itâs a victory.
âthere it is,â he pants. âdo it again.â
you try to hold it in. the noise, the heat, the ache crawling up your spine. you try to bite it back like always, teeth clamped down on your lip so hard it might bruise, nails digging into the muscles of his shoulders as if thatâll anchor you to something, but sukuna sees it. he always fucking sees it. the stuttering of your breath. the widening of your eyes. the tremble in your legs like youâre about to go boneless under him. and worst of allâthe way your cunt squeezes around him like itâs begging for more, like your body doesnât care about all the things your mouth refuses to say.
âthatâs it,â he growls, grabbing your cheeks, not rough but firm enough to make your lips part on instinct. âopen.â
you try to turn your head. he doesnât let you.
âlook at me.â
you do. you shouldnât, but you do. and his spit lands right on your tongue, slow and filthy, dripping from his mouth into yours like it belongs there, like this isnât the first time and wonât be the last.
âswallow.â
you do. and his cock twitches inside you the moment your throat bobs.
âfuck,â he hisses, dragging his thumb along the slick corner of your mouth. âyouâre so fucking good when you stop pretending.â
âs-shut the fuck upââ
but your voice breaks. it cracks, high and raw and gasping, because he grinds down right as he thrusts in deep, thumb pressed flat against your clit, pace relentless and brutal, like heâs chasing something with every stroke. like heâs chasing you.
and you lose it.
your moan isnât elegant. itâs not composed. itâs not bratty or mean or cool. itâs uglyâloud, drawn out, wrecked. your thighs clamp around his waist as the orgasm hits, harder than you expected, your whole body seizing, cunt fluttering wildly around his cock until you're gushing all over him, a sudden, sharp rush of wet that makes both of you curse in tandem.
âholy shit,â he breathes, laughing, almost shocked. âfucking squirting for me now? that's new.â
youâre still shaking. twitching. overstimulated and raw, head tossed back, mouth open, breath hitching while your soaked cunt pulses around him in aftershocks you canât suppress.
he slows downânot out of mercy, but out of awe. like heâs savoring it. like he wants to feel every second of you breaking.
âlook at you,â he mutters, leaning down again, dragging his tongue across your jaw, your neck, your chest. âbig talk all night and now youâre fucking dripping for me.â
you grab at him, too far gone to play it cool anymore, hips rolling up into his even as your body begs you to stop. you donât care. you want more. you want him deeper. you want him to ruin whatâs left.
âdonât you dare fucking stop,â you whisper, voice wrecked.
he kisses you again, messier now. thereâs no rhythm, no technique. just spit and tongues colliding in a haze of sweat and shared breath. you claw at his back, drag him into you harder, and he gives you what you want.
his hips piston into you with purpose, cock slamming deep on every stroke, the bed creaking beneath you, the slick squelch of your cunt only making it nastier. your name leaves his mouth over and overâlow, strained, cracked in the center like it costs him something to say. his hand curls around your jaw again, tilting your face up, his forehead pressed to yours so close you canât look anywhere else.
âwatch me,â he growls. âyou wanna pretend this doesnât mean shit? fine. but youâre gonna watch me while i cum in this pussy.â
you nod. your throatâs too tight to speak.
his rhythm falters once, twice, and then heâs spilling inside you with a groan so deep it rumbles in his chest. his cock twitches, presses in deep, and he doesnât stop movingâjust slow, dragging thrusts to fuck it all into you as you twitch beneath him, overstimulated, moaning softly into the space between you.
he doesn't let you look away.
âthatâs right,â he mutters, kissing your cheekbone, your jaw, your open mouth. âeyes on me, baby.â
when he finally stops, itâs only because youâre trembling so hard your hands canât stay on his skin.
he stays inside you longer than necessary, hips still, forehead pressed to yours like heâs trying to catch his breath off your mouth. your bodyâs trembling, clenching around him every few seconds from the aftershocks, thighs slick and sticking to his waist, your nails still buried in his shoulders because you forgot how to let go. the room is quiet nowâanother song just finished minutes ago, the bass replaced with the sound of your breath, the ceiling fan creaking softly above both of your bodies like a reminder youâre not dreaming.
his thumb traces lazy circles into your thigh. not sexual. just there. something to keep him connected to you like if he moves too fast, youâll disappear.
he shifts, just enough to meet your eyes again. his voice is rough. lower than before. but the biteâs gone.
ââŚstill gonna kick me out?â
you blink up at him, lips parting like you forgot how to answer. maybe you did. you still havenât unhooked your legs from his waist.
he smilesâfaint, lopsided, stupid. ââcause like, i will. iâll go. just saying... i could make pancakes in the morning. wear one of those slutty little chef aprons. ass out. the works.â
your laugh is so quick and unexpected it surprises even you. it bubbles up sharp, short, cracking straight through the haze. and the worst part? it sounds happy.
you shake your head, barely suppressing the smirk threatening your mouth. âshut up,â you murmur, smacking his arm. âjust lay down.â
