⤕ Your existence had been an endless night, where shadows whispered long forgotten secrets. Trapped in a golden cage, your fragile mind and shattered memories were chains that kept you from dreaming of freedom.
Then, he appeared with the first light of dawn, like a gentle sun warming your cold skin. In his gaze, the promise of a new beginning; in his presence, the sunrise your soul had longed for.
In which Alucard saves you from Erzsebet.
pairing: alucard (castlevania) x (f) reader
genre: angst, romance, eventual smut
warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, mental health issues, grief, physical abuse.
rating: 18+
word count: 5k
A/N: i made a post some days ago complaining that there weren't enough alucard fics on tumblr. because of that, a demon possessed me to write this story. i hope you'll like it so i can continue writing the next parts lmao ❤️ feedback is always MUCH appreciated! and, as usual, english is not my first language.
⤕ Chapters: soon! ⤕ Also on AO3
Before they gave you a name, they taught you the three simple rules for survival.
Don’t scream. Don’t cry. Don’t fight.
Those rules weren’t taught using words. You learned them as they were engraved on your skin, repeatedly. Night after night. Day after day. Teeth sinking on your neck sending shockwaves of pure pain through your body. Jaws so tight around your jugular that you couldn’t breathe anymore; made you desperately grasp for air in vain. The suction noise. You hated that noise. It was coming from you. The liquid dripping from your wound, warm and sticky, gluing your dress to your skin. The smell of iron. Pain pain pain pain pain. The intense headache that followed. The darkened vision, the dizziness. Your limbs losing all of their strength.
Then - pitch black unconsciousness.
You might’ve fought the first time it happened… or the first times. It is hard to remember. You struggled. You tried to push her away. You tried to punch her, claw her face, pull her hair. And that’s when you learned the don’t fight rule. Every time you put up some sort of resistance, she’d crush you with ten times more strength. You learned, very quickly, that having your blood sucked off wasn’t the worst she or her servants could do. You learned it after broken bones and pierced organs. You learned it after ripped teeth and hair.
You learned that she took pleasure in it.
She liked to see tears streaming down your face. She rejoiced every time you begged her to just let you die.
So, you learned. Don’t scream. Don’t cry.
If you stood still, if you offered no resistance, if you just let her have her way - it would be over quicker. You learned that your blood was valuable to her. You learned that not many things were valuable to her… but your blood, for some reason, was - even though you’d see her feeding from other girls as well.
However, you also learned that all these other victims would simply die after she fed off them. Not only her victims; the members of her entourage’s victims as well. They’d get pale and lifeless very quickly. They’d get thrown away after they stopped moving, their cheeks hollow and eyes rolled back.
You learned that you weren’t like them. For some reason, you always woke up the next day as if nothing happened. Cheeks still full. Skin still colored. Heart still beating.
Perhaps… perhaps that’s what made you valuable.
So you behaved.
They gave you a bed after a while. She realized that your blood tasted better if you were well fed, so the meals got more elaborate over time. She started complimenting you. She’d make you wear the most beautiful gowns. She’d make you sit by her side, silently, as she held her numerous balls. Her guests - her subjects - would bow after her, pledge loyalty, kiss her feet. Sometimes she accepted their words. Sometimes she killed them on the spot.
You’d sit there for hours, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Her abnormally tall figure projected a shadow over you. The sound of her voice made your skin crawl. Her smell made you want to vomit.
Still, you’d behave.
She’d turn to you after she was bored of talking or sick of feeding from other girls. Her hands were bigger than anyone you’ve ever seen; her claws, as sharp as an eagle’s. Her grip on you seemed to weigh tons.
With somewhat delicacy, she touched the necklace they made you wear that night. A huge ruby stone sitting over your collarbones.
“Ruby,” she said almost in a purr. “The same color of your delicious blood.”
A shiver ran down your spine.
“It sounds like a fitting name, My Queen.” The woman that never left her side commented. Her most loyal servant.
She chuckled, passing the tip of her tongue on her fangs.
“Indeed.”
That night, they gave you a name.
Jaw tightened around your jugular. No air. Pain pain pain pain pain. You didn’t fight back. You squeezed your eyes shut, tears falling silently down your cheeks. Headache. Dizziness.
And then - darkness.
***
“My sister, the moon, burns brightly tonight. She’s very excited, of course.”
The full moon, indeed, lightened the entire scenery, painting it in a gorgeous silver color. It reflected on Erszebet’s golden armor with a hauntingly beautiful glow. A soft breeze played with her white skirt as she gesticulated in her speech. She sounded tired, a calculated tone of hatred in her voice, as she explained in detail the revenge she’d take on her “father”, Amun-Ra.
You scanned the new place with your eyes. A vast garden expanded ahead. What did Drolta say…? Oh, yes. France was the name of the country you’ve arrived after weeks of travel. Although the night was chilly, it was still much warmer than Erzsebet’s home, which was always covered in meters of snow. At least thirty cloaked vampires waited in line for their Messiah’s arrival, being leaded by Drolta, of course.
In the moments your brain was working with somewhat lucidity, you heard conversations about some revolution. It was hard to make much sense of what they meant exactly, for anytime they had “important” conversations with you around, you’d be usually with an open wound on your neck trying to fight the overwhelming weakness and pain. They had the care to not let you be near while you were fully conscious. During the day as most of the Messiah’s court (and herself) slept, you were locked in your quarters. You were allowed to walk out only when Erzsebet needed to feed.
You didn’t understand exactly what they meant by that - in fact, you didn’t understand much of anything at all. You didn’t know why these vampires considered Erzsebet their queen; you didn’t understand why she considered herself a queen - no, she considered herself a goddess. You didn’t know what they meant by “crushing the revolution”, and you didn’t understand what you were doing in France.
Most importantly - you didn’t understand exactly what was their interest in you.
The obvious part: you seemed to be Erzsebet’s infinite source of blood and court jester, as the fact that she could break you in every way and you’d still wake up as if nothing happened the next morning entertained her. However… she didn’t need you. The Vampire Messiah had girls being fed to her daily. It’s not as if she was going through a blood shortage anytime soon. And… it seemed that she also had immense pleasure in simply killing - something she could not achieve with you.
So why keep you around? Why keep you locked with guards holding you at all times? Why drag you along anywhere she went?
There weren’t many moments in which your mind was clear - and in those small moments, such questions screamed in your mind relentlessly. Just… just why?
Why is any of this happening?
Your mind snapped back to reality the moment you heard a new strange sound. You lifted your head to see a big golden cage being brought closer to Erzsebet.
A frightened young girl locked inside it.
The sight didn’t shock you. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel a sting of sadness.
“Daughter of a revolutionary deputy. Member of the Jacobin club.” Drolta introduced maliciously as she opened the cage with the help of her clutch. A servant dragged the brown haired girl out of the cage. You watched in solemn silence as Erzsebet floated out of her chariot.
For a moment, the girl made eye contact with you. She immediately recognized your human features. Maybe, for a split second, she might’ve found some comfort in your image, finally seeing someone like her. Her eyes begged for an explanation; begged for help.
But there was nothing you could do.
You looked down again, not wanting to see Erzsebet sinking her fangs in the young girl’s neck. Silently, you apologized for being somewhat relieved that she was there. Erszebet would leave you alone until she got satisfied of her new victim.
As the sound of her strangled whimpers filled the area, Drolta approached you.
You never got used to it - how vampires could move unnervingly fast. You had barely realized she was standing by your side when you felt her hands hold your waist on both sides, taking you off the horse back as if you were a toddler, and putting you on your feet.
She smirked.
Goosebumps crawled your skin.
Erszebet was cruel, irritating, violent and loud. You knew that very well. Yet… perhaps the fact that you knew she was incapable of actually killing you made you somewhat anesthetized of her presence.
Drolta, however, actually scared you.
She wasn’t loud or reckless, she didn’t act on her instincts like her master. No… she was calculated. It seemed that her eyes were always over everything, like she knew what anyone would do before they even moved. There was something truly ominous deep within her pink eyes. Much smarter than Erszebet. In a way, much crueler.
She caressed your cheek with the back of her fingers.
“Rejoice, Ruby. You have a very important task ahead of you.” She said in what sounded like a purr before dragging you towards a carriage.
Oh.
You… actually knew what she meant already. A memory from not long ago - or was it long ago? - came; the last time you were required to do this… task. And once more, you hated the fact that your memory was so weak, how you couldn’t recall things that should be important, should be essential. Deep down, you knew your real name wasn’t “Ruby”. You knew you might’ve had a past… maybe even a family. Yet, any time you tried to tap on these memories, nothing came. Just frustrating emptiness.
There was actually a third reason for Erzsebet to keep you around and close. A valid reason.
And it filled you with unfathomable remorse.
***
The chateau was a magnificent place.
You didn’t have time to explore any of it, of course – you were immediately dragged into a room as soon as the entourage arrived, mere hours before sunrise. Still, you had time to see the exquisite gardens that decorated the entrance, the river that seemed to isolate it from the rest of the world. The interior of the chateau was just as mesmerizing. Opulence radiated from every corner, with golden arabesques and crystal chandeliers.
Your room was no less impressive. The bed, big and comfortable; it was a relief to sleep on a soft surface after weeks of uncomfortable travel. The towering windows faced the back gardens and the reflective pools of the water fountains. It was even equipped with a marble bathtub.
Nothing but a golden cage. You were locked in. Two guards stood outside the doors at all times. The door only opened to deliver food three times a day and to clean the latrine.
It was… tranquil.
It had been two… three…? days since you arrived. You couldn’t be sure. In the meantime, your presence was not requested – which made you question if that same poor girl was still alive or if they’d found someone else to entertain Erzsebet. It was a relief. Truly. You didn’t have many opportunities to stay awake and sane for such a long period.
You heard music and voices coming from downstairs, meaning they had a ball at some point. From the peek of the curtains, you saw that the chateau always very busy at night. Yes, it was tranquil – but all that movement filled you with constant apprehension. A strange heaviness in your gut that didn’t let you have a peaceful sleep. Something was going to happen. Something big.
The awful feeling in your gut only got worse when, in the middle of the night, a handful of maids entered your room without warning.
They washed you without any care. They perfumed your body. They brushed and styled your hair with intricate braids that curled at the top of your head in somewhat of a bun. They applied rouge to your lips. They dressed you in a jaw-dropping, beautiful blue gown; as dark as the night sky, embroidered with silver silk lines that seemed to imitate stars peppering around the skirt. The corset was tight but not uncomfortable. It was actually a much lighter dress than the ones you used to wear back at Erzsebet’s country, given how much more pleasant the temperature in France was.
Erzsebet loved luxury. She loved jewels, diamonds, gold, beautiful dresses; she did not allow anyone to appear anything but perfect anywhere near her, as ugliness displeased her eyes. She loved the theatrics of it. That is why, as you looked at the absolutely gorgeous image of yourself in the mirror, the only thing you felt was disgust. Perfectly well put, devoid of any personality trait. Just the way Her Magnificence liked it.
And that… that fucking ruby necklace sitting over your collarbones. It seemed to burn your skin. She demanded you to always wear it.
Your personal collar.
That night, Drolta herself came to escort you.
The woman wore a black gown made of what looked like leather. You saw her reflection on the mirror and shivered, not having noticed she had entered the room at all.
That same vicious smile adorned her features. She stepped closer, putting her hands over your shoulders, and looked straight to your eyes through the mirror.
“Beautiful as always, Ruby.” You hated that name. You hated the way she said it. Almost a mockery. “You know what you have to do, right?”
You gulped and nodded as your suspicions were confirmed. Drolta rolled her eyes.
“Did you unlearn how to speak? It has been ages since I last heard the sound of your voice.” But she didn’t give you time to answer, dragging you out of the room by the arm instead. The two cloaked guards followed shortly. “You should be proud of yourself, Ruby. Being able to help Her Magnificence is the greatest honor of all. You do know you are the only human she allows in her court, right?”
Oh, what a great honor. You felt your fingers beginning to shake as you approached the ceremonies hall, hearing the sound of multiple voices fast approaching.
It was, indeed, crowded.
The curtains covered all of the windows, since it was early in the morning; the sun reigned in the sky. Some vampires wore the typical black cloaks and some wore aristocratic attires. Quiet conversation filled the great hall. There was an air of expectation and excitement. It only made your guts twist more.
Not many paid attention to your arrival – their queen kept their attention locked on her, standing near the guard rail on the double stairs. You recognized some faces from Erzsebet’s palace; some were completely new. A few sent you the usual looks of thirst upon the realization that you were human. You tried not to make eye contact with anyone.
However, your eyes locked with one of the new faces down there very briefly. A brown-skinned man, wearing a luxurious purple attire. His long black hair fell to right side of his face, adorning his beautiful features. His green eyes didn’t hold any thirst or malice like the others. He just looked… curious. Astute. You quickly averted your eyes somewhere else.
Just to spot another face – and this time, the sting of sadness in your heart came back.
It was… it was that girl from before.
She wore a white gown – but the collar of the corset was tainted with her own blood. She had very visible open wounds on both sides of her neck. Standing by the stairs, she barely had the strength to support her own weight; her once olive skin now looked unhealthily pale.
You gulped.
Watching her in that state was like seeing yourself. Except this girl was going to die. Very soon.
How was she still alive?
The vampire kept dragging you by the arm, seemingly not noticing your apparent shock. When you passed by the girl on your way up the stairs, she recognized you again – and, once more, sent you a gaze that seemed to scream for help.
That was worse than a punch in the gut.
Drolta made you stop some steps away from Erzsebet. The Vampire Messiah did not bother to look back at you; as you already knew, she was preparing herself to what was about to come. Behind you, an obelisk with inscriptions and engravings was placed. Another cloaked servant approached. He carried a heavy, ancient book on his hands; its cover was made of black old leather, and although it was fading away due to the book’s apparent antique, you could see the outline of an image of the moon on it.
Drolta took the book in her arms, opening it on a specific page, and handed it to you.
“It is time.” She said with a voice filled of pride. “Take your part on the rise of Her Magnificence, and you may have our eternal gratitude.”
You didn’t want their eternal gratitude.
But that’s not what made you hesitate.
After looking at the book, your fragile memories came back with more clarity. You… you did this ritual twice before. You couldn’t tell how long ago. After it was over, you were locked back to your cell as usual, you didn’t exactly see what happened next – but you didn’t really need to see anything to understand the gravity of what it caused.
Even inside your room, you remembered feeling the stench of rotten human flesh for days.
Just… how many people must’ve died?
At this point, you were resigned to being hurt. You didn’t really see any point in trying to escape the claws of those two supernaturally powerful vampires – it’d only bring you more pain. But one thing was getting hurt... another was getting others hurt because of you. You didn’t want to be the harbinger of death again. Whatever they were planning, you didn’t want to participate.
So you froze in place. Sweat dripped down your temples. Your heartbeat increased.
“What… what are you going to do?” you asked, mustering the courage to speak in a quiet voice.
Drolta wasn’t smiling anymore.
She stepped closer, towering over your. Her eyes burned with contempt and cruelty. She brought her lips close to your ear, not to draw unwanted attention.
“Horrible timing to decide to be brave, darling.” She hissed. “Do what you’re told or she’ll face the consequences.”
She grabbed your face by the cheeks and forced your head towards the stairs.
The girl in white stood there, watching everything with frightened eyes.
You gasped.
Shehadnoticed.
Drolta chuckled.
“We know we can hurt you as we please, dear Ruby… but her? How much do you think she can handle?” You felt the warm press of her lips on your cheek. “Will you condemn her to a slow, horrid death in the name of your bravery?” She whispered, her voice dripping with mockery.
Your breath came shaky and difficult. The room seemed to blur for a second. You knew she wasn’t bluffing. She never did.
Slowly, you took the book from her hands.
Drolta released you with a satisfied grin. She patted the top of your head.
“Good girl.”
She stepped aside.
Your fingers were shaking. The book was heavy. It smelled of mold.
You sat down on the cool marble floor directly behind Erzsebet, the long skirt cascading around your body. You placed the book in front of you. The paper was yellowed and frail; it might rip off if you touched it. The pages had no images, only text handwritten in red ink.
You didn’t understand the words written. However, for some reason, you could read them clearly, although it sounded like nothing to you. You closed your eyes tightly, silently apologizing again for what you were about to do.
Erzsebet raised her head.
It was your sign.
You started to read the enchantment.
Your voice was nothing but a whisper. As the unknown words left your mouth, an already familiar feeling of disgust grew. You didn’t know what those words meant, but something deep within you – inside that darkened part of your brain where your memories must’ve been hidden – knew you were saying something blasphemous, hideous, something that went against your very nature.
Erzsebet seemed to fall into a trance when she heard those words. She inhaled them – the spell – as if they were smoke. Something as heavy as iron weighed over the hall, making all the spectators apprehensive. The tall, red-haired vampire started to gesticulate with wide, almost dance-like movements.
There was a crack in the air in front of her. Then, as she gesticulated, an orb of pure black and white energy materialized. The spectators gasped in awe.
Her movements became more frantic. The orb grew larger. You kept reading, feeling your throat going dry, your body getting weaker with each word. It’s as if Erzsebet was not only absorbing your words, but also your strength. Your eyes blurred with tears which you blinked rapidly to dissipate.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.
The eclipse started.
Slowly, a shadow made its way to cover the moon.
More gasps of awe.
Forgive me.
“Behold, the Devourer of Light!” Drolta announced with pride and admiration. Erzsebet laughed.
Please, forgive me. I’m sorry.
The curtains were dragged. The windows were opened with a gust of wind. The vampires rejoiced.
You gasped for air.
The enchantment was over. There was no more strength in your body.
You covered your face with your hand, not daring to raise your eyes and see the horde of vampires flying free through the windows. You didn’t pay attention to whomever took you back to your room and locked you there. You didn’t have enough energy to get up from the carpet.
For the first time in days, you closed your eyes and slept - hoping to never wake up again and face the horrors you helped unleash in the world.
***
There was something wrong.
You felt it in the air. A heavy tension. A strange silence.
That was not what you expected after the eclipse. Usually, what followed was a celebration of the conquer, a banquet filled with hundreds of victims upon whom the vampires feasted. Laughter, music, screams of agony, the horrible stench of blood and carcasses.
But now, it was… eerie.
With your body aching from sleeping on the floor, you glued your head to the door in hopes of getting a clue of what might’ve happened. All you heard were fast steps and shushed whispers. You noticed something was definitely wrong as hours went by and no one came to bring you breakfast.
Is it possible that Erzsebet’s plan – whatever it was – went wrong?
These thoughts churned in your mind as you took off the jewelry, undid the tight hairstyle and took off the under layers of skirt that made the dress puffier. Who could possibly go against Erzsebet or Drolta? At this point, your only memories were of being surrounded by vampires. The few humans you met didn’t last that long. You’ve been around them for long enough to understand that most vampires were only slightly stronger and faster than humans. It wasn’t easy or quick to become powerful – and the Vampire Messiah had some fairly powerful servants under her command. In fact, you didn’t think anyone could be more powerful than Drolta. Erzsebet could summon an eclipse, but she didn’t seem to be as experienced in battle as her right hand woman.
As far as your suspicions went, you could be sure that, unfortunately, the insufferable red-haired vampire wasn’t defeated. There were still guards outside your doors. Whatever happened, it wasn’t enough to stop her from accomplishing her… plan.
Sitting in front of the dressing table while you untied one of the braids in your head, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Without the rouge, the jewelry, the neat hairstyle. You were just a shell of a woman, really. Whenever you had enough time to really think about your life – in those brief moments when you weren’t in the brink of unconsciousness or fighting against the pain –, the only thing you could feel was… frustration. It wasn’t even sadness or hatred, only plain frustration. You knew there was something wrong with your head. You knew that immense void in your memory couldn’t be normal. Still, there was nothing you could do about it. They never gave you time to think, to maybe plan an escape strategy. But even if you did – how could you actually run away? You didn’t have the strength to face a vampire head on, even the “weak” ones. And you knew the types of punishment you’d be put through if you were caught.
You always healed, yes. But it didn’t make the pain less painful. Drolta could be very creative in her ways of ensuring your utter submission.
In the end, you were reminded of why you always chose to sleep through most of your sanity. While awake, you were constantly reminded of your current situation and your inability to change it. At least while you slept, you had… peace.
The clock on the wall hit noon. Your stomach was empty, yet you didn’t know if you wanted to eat.
That’s when you caught something with the corner of your eye.
It was quick and silent – barely a flap of wings. You turned your head in time to see a strange mass of black materializing in your room, passing through the breach of the window.
Your eyes widened. Your heart jumped.
That mass took the form of a man.
Your immediate feeling was fear. That was, very clearly, a vampire. His skin was pale as now, just like his long hair, which cascaded over his broad shoulders. His eyes were hazel, almost golden; they seemed to glow faintly under the shadow cast over his face. He was tall. His attire was black from head to toe – boots, gloves, jacket, cape. He had a calm, yet ferocious expression – analytical, even – as his eyes locked onto yours. He held a long silver sword, its tip pointed directly at you.
The obvious threat in his position should frighten you even more. But that was not was you focused on.
Sunlight hit him through the windows, casting a halo on the back of his head. His hair shimmered with the glow of a million silver coins. It made him look… holy. Like the frescoes you had seen of the Christian God painted on the ceiling of a church Erzsebet once destroyed.
How… how could he…?
“You can come with me peacefully.” He said quietly. His voice was deep. Husky. He almost sounded… calm. But you wouldn’t let yourself be fooled by that; it was unyielding as stone. The stranger didn’t blink for a moment, his eyes tracking your every small movement like a tiger stalking its prey.
He was, in fact, not giving you a choice. The sword in his hand, unwavering and pointed at you, made that very clear.
Your breath got caught in your throat.
There were many things you could’ve said. You knew that man could and would hurt you if you moved too abruptly. Barely five seconds in his presence and you understood: like Drolta, he wasn’t one to bluff.
But you couldn’t bring yourself to feel more afraid, because as he spoke, you caught a glimpse of his fangs – and that other feeling grew stronger.
Curiosity.
“Y-You’re a vampire. How are you standing in the sunlight?” was all you could mutter in frightened amazement.
The stranger didn’t drop his threatening position, yet he tightened his eyes in a subtle sign of surprise. It seemed that your sudden question caught him off guard.
“Don’t you know who I am?” he asked, keeping the same tone. It was your turn to frown. You clasped your hands together, resting them over your legs, and shook your head. How and why would you know him?
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
He narrowed his eyes even more. It looked like he was searching for something, inspecting you with a new type of interest.
“I find it hard to believe that one of Erzsebet’s servants wouldn’t know of me by now.”
You gulped, tightening your own clasped hands.
“I… don’t know many things, sir.”
The stranger still watched you, in silence, for a few more seconds. It hit you in that moment the reason for his apparent confusion. He expected you to fight him.
Then, he straightened his position. You eyes widened with apprehension and shock when he let go of his long sword and it floated – the weapon stood with its hilt turned to the ceiling a few centimeters away from the floor, emitting an eerie metallic sound as it moved.
The men approached you. He was silent – so silent that, if you weren’t directly looking at him, you probably wouldn’t know someone was moving in the same room as you. As if he had dropped that ferocity, he sat down on the bed in front of you with a newly serene expression.
“I was rude in my approach. I apologize.” his voice mirrored the serenity of his face. “I am Alucard.”
Your breath got caught in your throat once more.
You didn’t know what was more shocking. His sudden change in behavior, his absolute calm while in enemy territory… or the fact that he was beautiful.
Again – you were more used to vampires than humans at this point. Every vampire had an uncanny beauty to them. They were attractive and scary at the same time. While you could see and sense very well that this man still represented danger… the “uncanny” aspect didn’t apply to him. He looked young (being a vampire, that didn’t mean much), a man of soft yet striking features.
Ethereal was the word you were looking for.
You noticed that he was paying attention if you were going to react to his name, which you didn’t. You also noticed that he was waiting for you to present yourself as well. Slow reactions. You weren’t used to talking.
“My name is…” your words trailed off.
For the first time, you averted your eyes from his, grabbing the blue fabric of your skirt in discomfort.
“They call me Ruby, sir.”
The man – Alucard – quirked one eyebrow slightly. “Is it not your real name?”
You sighed tiredly. “I don’t think so. No.”
Alucard hummed. His voice was so deep that it seemed to reverberate in your bones. He crossed his arms. “And do you have any idea of why I am here, Maybe-Ruby?”
The unexpected humorous way in which he called you caught you by surprise. Still, once more, you gulped, apprehension growing yet again.
“To… get revenge, I suppose?” The vampire looked genuinely confused for the first time. His quirked eyebrow was an unspoken question. It made you avoid his eyes once again, feeling a mix of anxiety and embarrassment. “For the eclipse.”
He went silent for some moments.
“Did you cause the eclipse?” You heard a sting of danger in his question that only made your heartbeat increase.
“I helped. Somehow.”
“Why?” He was growing more inquisitive.
“I didn’t have a choice, sir.” You blurted out nervously.
Alucard hummed yet again.
When he let out a tired sigh, you finally looked back at him again.
“To answer my previous question,” he said as he got up from the bed. “I came here to kidnap you. But it looks like I’m saving you, as Erzsebet seems to be as much of a threat to you.”
You gasped, widened you eyes.
He… he wanted to take you out of here?
The anxiety made your fingers shake. You felt nervous, excited, hopeful… scared. Hell, were you scared. How in the world would this man take you out of here alive? Floating sword or not, did he even stand a chance against Drolta?
“However, I will need your help in return, Ruby,” Alucard continued, now looking back at the windows. “I see you don’t know many things, but I’d appreciate if you made some effort. Now, let’s go. I’m already abusing the opportunity my associate gave me…”
“Wait.”
You grabbed his wrist in a desperate move.
Alucard looked at your hands, then at you – once again, confused and shocked.
You were shaking.
“Thank you for your help, sir. You are very kind.” you managed to blurt out somehow. “B-But I don’t think Erzsebet will ever let me go. She… she has very powerful servants. One of them, Drolta… she will hunt me to the ends of the earth. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me, sir.”
You didn’t dare to look up at him.
Perhaps you were being too emotive. You barely knew this man at all; what proof did you have that he wasn’t as cruel as the vampires that were keeping you imprisoned? But at least – and for the first time you could remember – he was somewhat kind to you. He didn’t offend you, didn’t physically hurt you… and that alone was much more than anyone had offered for as long as you knew.
Maybe he could get out of here safely. He wouldn’t have Erzsebet and her entourage hunting him down. Maybe he still had a chance-
Your train of thought derailed the moment you heard his… chuckle.
Your heart jumped within your chest the moment he, with much delicacy, put his own gloved hand over yours and squeezed it reassuringly.
You finally looked up.
Alucard had a small smile on his lips. It wasn’t one of the mean, mocking smirks you were used to. The suspicion disappeared from his eyes, his eyebrows were not longer tense. He looked… gentle. More than that… there was a glint of humor in his eyes, as if he found the situation funny.
The sun that streamed through the windows seemed to shine even brighter, surrounding his entire figure in golden glow that matched his eyes. Yes, he looked holy. Otherworldly.
“I won’t get hurt,” he assured with tenderness. “And neither will you.”
Time itself seemed to stop at that moment.
He didn’t boast about being all-powerful. And you realized that he didn’t need to. Underneath his gentle eyes, you saw unwavering confidence; quiet, motionless and imposing like a mountain. In a way, it was much more menacing than any of Erzsebet’s scandalous actions or bloodbaths.
And for the first time, such menace wasn’t directed at you. It was on your favor.
That was your chance. The only real chance you ever got as far as your frail memory knew. A chance of living in a world where you didn’t have to follow the three survival rules.
Don’t fight. Don’t scream. Don’t cry.
But you wanted to fight. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry.
You wanted to live.
So when Alucard offered his hand, you took it and got up from the chair.
You didn’t need to say anything. The silver-haired vampire nodded with satisfaction as his sword companion floated closer to him.
“Let’s go.”
Then, you followed Alucard towards the sun – towards the dawn of a new life.
summary you thought you could manage meaninglessly hooking up with your ex-boyfriend. you were sure that if you lied to yourself enough that you’re not still in love with him, you’d eventually believe it. it takes one bad night to see that you’re both still very much attached.
continuation of this blurb, inspired by this ask! started as a blurb but got very long! not necessary to read the previous works. takes place between s2-3. div credit.
You sit on your bed, the lump in your throat refusing to go away. You’ve been on the verge of crying since your friends left almost half an hour ago.
It was so embarrassing. You were hanging out downstairs, showing them something on your phone. That’s when Rafe texted you, the notification clear for everyone to see.
“Who’s Don’t Text?” one of your friends asked, confused by the contact name.
You locked your screen, meeting their cautious stares, sure they already knew.
Who else would you have saved as Don’t Text other than your toxic ex-boyfriend? It wouldn’t have been so damning if he hadn’t sent ok see you tonight.
So, you admitted it. That you’ve been hooking up with Rafe for the past few weeks, ever since the night of your friend’s birthday when you drunkenly texted him to ask for a ride home.
You knew what they were thinking. That you’re an idiot for inviting the man who you always cried over back into your life, the man who you repeatedly told your friends is an asshole, the man they watched tear your heart out when you tried to make your relationship healthier, just to be told by him that no, it wasn’t going to happen, he wasn’t going to try to get better for you.
While you thought it’d be a relief to have the secret off your chest, it wasn’t. The tension in the room was heavy, your friends piecing together that this is why you didn’t want them to sleep over on the one night you have the house to yourself. It’s because Rafe is coming over after they leave.
As you lean against your pillow, you read through your emotionless conversation with him, a noncommittal string of plans to hook up. Earlier this evening, you had texted my place later? He replied with time? You said around 1. He responded with ok see you tonight.
Your confession made your friends look at you with worry and contempt, asking “are you sure it’s a good idea?” when you told them it’s just sex and that he’s saved as Don’t Text because one day, you really are planning on not texting.
But they weren’t convinced. They said you’ll just undo your healing and wind up hurt all over again. And you’re angry because they’re right.
You brushed past the subject, saying that you’re unattached. It’s a lie.
Every time you see Rafe, you feel shameful relief. He’s a drug that gets better and harder to stop with every hit. Admittedly, you couldn’t wait for your friends to leave so you could sink into mindless pleasure with your ex.
He’s on his way now.
You scroll up to the top of the conversation with him. The oldest message is from when you asked him for a ride a few weeks ago. You had deleted everything, every piece of evidence of your relationship, when you first broke up so that you wouldn’t go back and reminisce.
But you still have a hidden folder in your phone. Of photos and videos and screenshots. And because you must love to torture yourself, you open it.
Photos of memories that you used to cherish and now wish you could forget flood your screen. You open your favorite photo of you and Rafe.
It’s a captured moment of you two on a couch at a house party, unknowingly being photographed as you laugh together, your head thrown back, Rafe gazing at you with a dimpled smile and unconstrained love.
Ironically, the friend who was telling you earlier tonight that he did nothing but make you cry is the one who took the photo.
You continue to scroll through the folder, stopping at a screenshot of a text he sent you. You remember reading it for the first time so clearly.
You’d been together a little over three months. You’d gone to the beach and settled on the sand by a hidden cove. Rafe brought a blanket and your favorite drink and you sat together and talked as the half-moon shone down over the water.
You had innocently asked if he had eaten yet and he opened up to you about how you’re the only person in his life who really cares about him. Nobody else worries if he ate or if he slept or if he’s been drinking too much. You hugged him and kissed him and stroked his hair, whispering promises of how amazing he was.
Your eyes travel over the text he’d sent you the morning after. I can’t believe you’re real.
Those sweet moments were dirtied when your relationship slowly descended into a twisted, toxic mess. Rafe became jealous and controlling and you became combative and unforgiving, both of you poisoning each other the longer you were together.
It’s day and night when you compare how your texts used to be to how they are now. Whether you were on good terms or arguing, at least when you were together, your messages had passion behind them. Now, every text is cold and clinical, making plans to fuck and nothing else.
Your phone buzzes. He’s here.
As you pace down the stairs towards the front door, you regret the way you dressed. After your friends left, you showered and slipped into your sexiest bra and panties and draped a silk robe over your shoulders.
It’s something you’d do when you were together, dressing up in something you know he’d love. But now, it feels silly, going the extra mile for a man who didn’t consider you worth fighting for.
Rafe waits for the door to open. It’s all he fucking does these days. Wait. Wait to get better, wait to be over you, wait to see you texted him and just ignore it instead of feeling his heart come together and break apart.
You keep the lights off, but when you swing open the door, he can see your figure in the muted dark. Your robe is barely held open by the knot over your waist. The sight of your cleavage sends hot electricity through him.
“Hey,” you say impassively, stepping away so he can come inside. You see that he cut his hair. It’s not hanging over his forehead anymore. He buzzed it and he looks so damn handsome that your heart skips a beat.
He grimaces when he notices your expression. This is why he’s been avoiding meeting your eyes lately. Because of that blank way you look at him, unaffected by his presence, only interested in sex, detached when you used to hold onto him like you’d die without him.
Rafe purses his lips, trying to act like seeing you doesn’t make his blood run hot, like one second of looking at you doesn’t make him hard. You’ve been broken up for nearly two months now, so he doesn’t understand why he has the impulse to compliment you on how pretty you dressed for him.
“How long are you alone?” he asks. He doesn’t want to deal with being seen by your parents. You’ve already told him how much your family and friends don’t approve of him. He can do without the reminder of how much he doesn’t fit in your life anymore.
“All night,” you say. “They’re not back until tomorrow.”
He follows you up the stairs, eyes trailing up your bare legs, already wanting to rip that robe off of you.
He hasn’t been in your bedroom in ages. He didn’t expect it to be so hard to be in here again when he owns the title of ex-boyfriend.
You pull him in immediately. You can’t deal with your thoughts anymore. You just want to drown in pleasure with someone who knows your body better than you know it yourself.
Rafe tastes like cinnamon with a hint of whisky, and you’re mad that he’s been drinking, but you think you forfeited the right to be mad at him for his choices when you ended things.
His tongue is warm against yours as you pull him down onto your bed. You sink into the mattress and he hovers over you. His hand roughly drags up your thigh, squeezing your ass, his cock already hard against you.
You hate how much you love the effect you have on him. Why does it make you so proud that you can get him so hard, that you can text him to come over and he does, savoring you like you’re forbidden fruit he’s been starving for?
Rafe’s kisses are ravenous, teeth nipping at your lips, kneading your ass, groaning against your mouth.
You spread your legs so that he’ll touch you and he knows what you want, because at this point, he reads your body like a book. He presses his fingers against your core, rubbing over your panties.
“Couldn’t wait for me, yeah?” he mumbles against your mouth.
Your brows pinch in sadness. Ever since you became exes with benefits, you play this game, dirty-talking taunts, fighting for power, as if one of you can win if you prove that the other needs this more.
But you don’t have it in you tonight. Not after the way your friends looked at you. Not after going through that stupid folder. Your heart weighs a thousand pounds.
“Just…” you breathe.
“Just what?”
He pulls your panties to the side, the warm pads of his fingers making direct contact, and you slightly buck your hips, a whine spilling from your mouth.
“Just what?” he demands, tracing up and down.
“Just make me feel good.”
It’s a plea much deeper than it sounds. You don’t just want the sexual gratification. You want to feel how you did before. Happy with him. Happy with who you are when he’s around.
Rafe’s lips press against your neck, taking on the challenge. He hasn’t gone down on you since the first time you fucked after your break-up, when you roughly pushed him down and sat on his face, using him, treating his body with so much anger.
He tells himself he hasn’t eaten you out since because it’s too loving of a gesture for two people who are just hate-fucking. But it’s not the truth. He doesn’t do it because he falls in love with you even more every time he tastes you.
He can’t bear to need you any more than he already does. You broke him in every sense of the word. You proved to him that he’s unloveable.
“Rafe, please,” you whisper, arching your back.
“What?” he rasps. “What do you want? Just fucking say it.”
You stay silent as he leaves open-mouthed kisses over your neck. He’s frustrated that you’re not answering.
“You want me to go down on you?” he says impatiently.
“Yes,” you whisper. He catches the shakiness in your tone. You don’t sound like who you’ve been since you started hooking up. You sound gentle and adoring like who you used to be with him. You sound like the woman you’re not anymore.
He ignores it, not giving in to ask what the hell is going on with you, not when he knows you’ll brush him off. He pushes your robe off your body, the silk slipping over your skin quickly, and shifts lower to put his head between your legs.
You moan when he kisses you over your panties. Your hands lace in his hair, but you don’t feel the locks you used to feel. Instead, you run your nails over the soft buzzcut, wondering when and why he cut his hair, knowing you won’t ask because you don’t make much conversation with him anymore.
He’s rough when he pulls your panties down, rushing to spread your lips apart and taste you as soon as he can. The heat of his open mouth against you makes you quiver in bliss.
Rafe’s head is swimming. You’re so soft and hot and wet against his mouth, sweet just like he remembered. He groans against you, starting to lap at every dip, your folds slick and delicate.
Your hand runs over his hair as you writhe beneath him, feeling his mouth working you, listening to the sounds of him licking and sucking.
He’s an addict relapsing and he wants to overdose, to replicate how this was when you lived in the promise of a relationship together, even though he knows it’ll kill him.
“Talk how you used to,” he murmurs.
“What?” you ask.
“Do it.” His voice is hoarse as he grips your thigh. He’s fucking mortified to be asking to be spoken to and praised the way he used to when he’d please you like this. But he needs it.
You look down to see Rafe’s head between your thighs, expecting clarity, but getting nothing else. He keeps his eyes off of you, licking you slowly.
“How I used to?” you whisper.
He shifts to run the tip of his tongue over your aching clit, pushing hot pleasure through you. You’ll do anything he wants if he makes you feel like this.
“I can,” you stammer breathily, willing yourself to fall into the old habit. He locks his lips around your clit and you shudder. “Shit. That’s good.”
“Yeah?” he pulls back to groan.
“So fucking good,” you say. “You know exactly what to do.”
Euphoria floods every one of Rafe’s senses and he lets himself believe, for just this moment, that you meant all the good things you said to him and none of the bad.
He sucks your most sensitive spot slowly, warm breaths pooling over you every time he pulls back.
“Just like that,” you whisper. “That’s perfect.”
Your words spur him on, his tongue flat against you, his lips and chin wet and sticky. He’s obsessed with the way you’re talking and breathing and moaning. He loves the sounds you make when you’re so deep in ecstasy that he’s giving you.
Your words are in your throat. You used to tell him you loved him whenever he did this to you, but you can’t and it’s a jarring realization that it’s not because you wouldn’t mean it, but really, because this is supposed to be indulgent and sinful, not loving and sweet.
“Whose?” he rasps. It’s what he used to always ask. Who your pussy belongs to. Whose you are.
You can’t say it.
“Whose?” he demands.
You give in.
“Yours,” you whisper. Saying it makes the tears that’ve been threatening to come out finally fall out of the corners of your eyes.
You’re his and you don’t want to be. Because being his means loving a broken man who doesn’t want to get himself together for you.
Your throat aches as you swallow down the pain, shuffling beneath him so he’ll take his mouth off of you. No matter how earth-shatteringly good it feels, you’ll cry if he keeps going.
You turn to perch up on your knees, looking back, but not meeting his gaze because you can’t handle him seeing you teary-eyed. Too many times in the past, you were vulnerable with him just to be called sensitive.
“Hard,” you say in a hush. You want him behind you, fucking you with force, giving you raw pleasure because you need the reminder that that’s all he’s capable of offering you.
Rafe’s pissed off that you cut it short, roughly tugging off his shirt and pulling down his jeans. He realizes you’re still in your bra and he unhooks it, because if he’s nothing but a fuck to you, he deserves to see all of you.
He holds himself at his base, on his knees, finding your entrance. The head of his cock sinks into you and you push back, needing him now.
Rafe smirks depravedly, revelling in the way you look with your ass up in the air for him, desperate for his cock. Good. Because he’s so fucking desperate for you that he still can only come to the thought of you.
His hands are on your hips and he shoves into you, making you gasp, granting your wish to give it to you hard.
He pulls back, then drives back inside over and over, your skin slapping against his, your ass recoiling with each thrust. Every plunge into you is fucking perfect. You’re squeezing him so tight.
Your breaths quicken, both panting as he fucks you from behind, filling you with a deep, hard pressure. It feels so damn good, your moans uncontrollable, but you can’t shut your mind up.
It’s all too much. Loving someone who accused you of not caring about him as much as he did about you was exhausting, but having to pretend you don’t love him at all is even worse.
You bury your face into your pillow, asking yourself the hell you’re doing, getting dressed up for him, letting him continue to take pieces of you every time you meet like this. For the first time, you can’t get lost in the pleasure. The pain is louder.
Rafe’s fingers dig into your hips as his body tightens with the promise of an orgasm. This is what makes it all worth it. When he’s balls deep in you, he doesn’t have the self-loathing thoughts that haunt him every minute he’s alone, he doesn’t have to pretend he’s somewhere else.
It feels so right to be inside you, even though you’re someone he’s supposed to hate. He’s empty, but with you is the only time he’s whole and he so deeply resents that he’s not enough for you, that all this has to be so goddamn complicated.
He sees stars when he comes, pumping deep inside you, grunting a broken string of fucks into your quiet bedroom air. It’s embarrassing to come this fast, but eating you out got him so worked up that he couldn’t control it.
He’s weak, hunching over, one arm holding himself up as stays inside you and skims his other hand over your hip and between your legs, rubbing your clit exactly how you need to come.
Your face is against the pillow, now wet with tears. You won’t be able to come. You can’t.
“Stop it,” you say, voice thick with sorrow.
You shift forward, feeling him slide out of you, collapsing to your side.
“Fuck,” you mumble in the pillow.
Rafe is at a loss. You were just moaning, pushing back against him, and now you’re angry at him, not wanting to let him give you an orgasm.
“What?” he murmurs, moving to lean over you, his hand resting on your sweat-sheened back. “Did it hurt?”
“Yes,” you say impulsively, because while it’s not physical pain, it is emotional agony. You can’t do this. Casual sex isn’t all that casual when the person you’re doing it with owns you in every possible way.
Rafe stiffens. You’re crying. He can hear it in your voice. When you sniffle, he feels like the lowest of the low, the biggest piece of shit in the world. He must have lost himself in the moment, going too rough.
“Are you okay?” he asks. His hand runs up and down the curve of your back, watching you with worried eyes, but like always, you won’t look at him.
“You can leave now.”
Rafe pulls his hand off of you. The bed shifts when he stands. You hear the shuffle of clothes. You look up to see his broad silhouette leave your bedroom, in just his boxers. You wipe away your tears.
In the dim glow of the lamp light, you watch him come back into your bedroom. He’s holding a towel, damp with warm water, and you’re weak, so you let him lie next to you in bed, gently turning you onto your back and wiping between your legs.
It’s something he’d do as a boyfriend, knowing his way around your home, cleaning you up. Not as an ex who’s using you for sex. Every hook-up you’ve had since you broke up ends with one of you abruptly leaving, no concern for aftercare or pillow talk.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, dabbing gently. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Any and every shred of anger and disappointment he holds for you is silenced. He’s disgusted in himself for hurting you. No matter what you are to him now, you were once the sun in a storm, the only person who didn’t make him feel like he was in the background of his own life.
He sounds devastated and you wriggle in your sheets to get a look at his face. His gaze darts to you for just a moment, but it’s enough for you to see that his eyes glossed over with tears.
You feel a prick on your heart. He’s crying over this? You would’ve thought he’d be fine with hurting you during sex. After all, he’s fine hurting you every other way.
“It wasn’t… it didn’t hurt,” you say softly. It’s the first time you care about not hurting his feelings since your catastrophic break-up.
“What? You said it did.”
You gently put your hand on his, stopping his movements, letting your tears fall now because there’s no point in hiding them anymore.
“I meant… what we’re doing hurts,” you admit, looking down at your hands atop the towel because you can’t bear to look into his eyes. “Hooking up like this. It’s fucking with my head.”
Rafe takes a moment to breathe, his chest rising and falling with tears that won’t stop.
His hand slides out from under yours and he sits up, wiping at his eyes. You toss the towel aside, sitting up, too, finding your robe and draping it over your body, even though he’s seen you naked so many times before.
You watch him in the dusk of your bedroom, the light soft over his handsome features, his lips parted as he stares down and tries to gain composure.
“You’re saying you want to stop?” he finally asks through hitched breaths.
You don’t know the answer. You don’t know if you want to stop having Rafe in your life, even in this twisted capacity.
You’re silent, sniffling as your cries refuse to cease. You can’t believe you’re here, both crying on your bed, both having crumbled so quickly.
“You have to answer me,” he says, blinking fast, his tone on the verge of a whine.
Your face is pinched in misery as you gaze at him. He looks up, his eyes bloodshot and glimmering.
“Do you want to stop?” you ask. It’s mostly a cop-out, a test to see if he feels anything more than lust for you.
“Don’t turn it on me,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “You told me to leave. And I’ll go and never come back if that’s what you want.”
Rafe’s eyes burn from the tears. He’s in pieces. He’s not going to be the one going out on a limb here, asking you to keep this arrangement with him. You have to decide.
“Do your friends know that you still see me?” you ask. What happened earlier tonight with your friends won’t leave your head.
“What?” Rafe squints in frustration.
“Do they?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. How the fuck did he get here? He was just living in a fantasy, finishing inside of you, releasing all his stress, and now, he’s facing the demons that he’s constantly trying to outrun.
“Yeah,” he says. “Why?”
“What do they say?”
“What are you getting at?” he huffs.
“Do they tell you to stop? Or that I’m bad for you?”
“You know we don’t talk like that,” Rafe tells you.
You chew on your lip, gently sweeping under your eyes with shaky fingers. You were the only one he didn’t keep at an emotional distance. The only one he opened up to who never told him to toughen up. It seems that hasn’t changed.
“My friends found out tonight,” you admit. He’s immediately on edge. It was an ongoing theme in your relationship that they never liked him.
“And what, they don’t approve?” Rafe mutters. “So, you’re ending this because you live by their rules?”
You pull your legs forward, curling into a ball with your forehead on your knees.
“Please stop,” you whisper defeatedly. “It’s not like that.”
He stares at you, a hole in his chest as your shoulders skitter with your cries. He always hated seeing you cry.
It’s overwhelming dealing with his own tears, so it’s a million times worse seeing yours. His reflex is to tell you to stop. But when you were his girlfriend, you’d told him, screamed at him really, that it was cruel of him to tell you to quit being sensitive when your body was just letting out pain.
And he’s been ruminating over everything you ever said to him, trying to figure out if there was an exact moment you fell out of love with him. He doesn’t want to be called cruel again.
“What’d they say?” he asks.
You’re surprised to hear the gentle tone of his voice. It’s relieving to not be fighting with him for once.
“That I’ll just end up hurt again,” you confess, your words muffled. “And I am. Already. I don’t remember what it’s like to not hurt.”
Rafe aches, taken aback. You’ve been cold and apathetic every time he’s seen you since the night you drunkenly hooked up in his car as exes. He never knew you were hurting, that he still has the power to do that to you.
“Me, neither,” he admits, his voice brittle. You lift your head to look up at him, needing to see his face to believe it.
“What else?” you ask.
“What else?” he echoes.
“What else do you feel?”
He swallows. It’s odd, not having the urge to hide behind his pride. But your gaze is so sincere, your sniffles so hard to listen to.
Rafe has never been good at talking through his feelings. He prefers to show them by yelling and throwing things and fighting because those methods are easy and safe.
Crying never feels safe. At one point, it did. With you. Before you broke his heart.
“You can tell me,” you say. “I won’t start a fight about it.”
“I don’t give a fuck if you start a fight,” he says, a humorless laugh leaving his lips.
“What do you give a fuck about?” you say, keeping your temper in.
Rafe mumbles your name in frustration, shaking his head.
“I don’t want to… talk to you about this shit just for you to not…” he trails off.
You know your ex well, aware that he needs to be coached through hard conversations. He doesn’t think before he speaks when he’s vulnerable. He rambles, at times all over the place, making it hard to understand him.
“For me to not what?” you ask.
“Think what I think,” he admits.
You rest your cheek on your knee, your eyes stinging with tears.
“What are you thinking?”
“Goddamn it. That I miss you, okay?” he says sharply. “And you just… you look at me like I’m a fucking stranger now.”
It’s the last thing you expected to hear. You thought you were just hook-up to him. Not somebody he misses. Your throat is raw. Your pulse is loud in your ears.
Rafe looks down again, breath shaky as his crying gets closer to sobbing. He’s a mess. He doesn’t do this shit in front of people. He does it alone, when he can’t hold it in any more, letting his cheeks burn with tears when he lies on his pillow at night, knowing there’s no point in trying to stop.
“You miss me?” you repeat. He scoffs, as if he’s angry you pulled it out of him. “What do you miss?”
“Why are you asking me this?” he mutters, annoyed. You always do this, pull at the string barely keeping him together, making him speak. It’s what he always loved and hated about you.
You take a beat before you answer, accepting that you’re about to break the promise you made to yourself to never open up to him again.
“Because I miss you, too,” you admit.
It’s the first time in months that you see light in Rafe’s eyes. A few seconds of heavy silence pass between you.
The moment’s not even over, but you already know you’ll think about it for a long time, about the feeling of sitting with him in your dim room this late at night, practically naked together on your bed, wordless. Every sense of anything sexual is gone, the atmosphere much more fragile.
Even after weeks of hooking up, this is the most intimate moment you’ve shared in a long time.
Then, his brows furrow, uncertainty and anguish flashing on his face. He doesn’t believe you.
“I do,” you say softly, nodding to confirm it.
Rafe opens his mouth to speak, looking down again, another tear rolling down his face and dripping off his chin. You watch the way his glossy bottom lip trembles, as if his mouth is refusing to let him get the words out.
This is when he cracks all the way, holding his head in his hands, silently sobbing. You gaze at him with a broken heart. You’ve seen him cry, but never this hard.
Despite all the pain and anger that festers between you, you shuffle closer. Your bunched up robe falls off your chest and you don’t care. You rest your hand on the back of his neck, guiding him to cry against your bare shoulder.
“It’s okay,” you whisper.
He shakes his head no against you. It’s so far from okay. It’s not fair to meet someone and give them all of himself just to be ridiculed and told that all of him isn’t enough.
But impulse and muscle memory take over and he wraps his arms wrap around you, bare chests pressed together, his face in the crook of your neck.
“You said I was just like my dad,” he murmurs shakily against your skin.
You squeeze your eyes shut. You compared him to his father once, just once, during a fight when you were together. He’d gotten angry at you for being upset, and you knew his dad had done that to him in the past, and the vile, spiteful words came out of your mouth with no filter.
You regretted it immediately. You had no idea he held onto it, too.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, running your hand up and down the back of his hair. “You’re not. I said that just to hurt you. I didn’t mean it.”
He burrows his face deeper, smelling you, his heavy arms lightly trembling as they encircle you. It’s ridiculous how he wanted an apology from you for so long, but now that you gave it, he feels guilty.
“I hurt you, too,” he says. “Your friends are right to hate me.”
“They’re just protective,” you say, your voice wobbly.
“You shouldn’t…” He breathes in sharply. “You shouldn’t need protection from me. I know I fucked up. I fucked up so bad so many times.”
Your mind replays your vicious fights before and after your break-up, how deeply he hurt you when he hurled insults at you and accused you of cheating and blamed you for your problems.
But the good parts weave their way in. You were best friends. You made so many good memories. He loved you, took care of you, spoiled you. You always came together after a fight. Until too much damage had been done.
You can’t deny that he fucked up. But you did, too. You were mean. You were spiteful. You ignored him because you knew how much it hurt him.
“I fucked up, too,” you say, never having liked when he spoke low of himself, hating that you’ve called him names and insulted him in the past. “You deserve to feel good about yourself, okay?”
Rafe exhales shakily. He’s not sure he agrees. He knows there’s a screw loose, something missing in him. Maybe someone like him is fated to hate himself because there’s nothing to love.
“You know why I miss you?” you offer, not waiting for a response. “I had fun with you. I loved how full of life you are and how intensely you care. I loved how you called me your girl and how you much you looked out for me.”
It’s the best thing you could’ve said. This is why you owned his heart. Why you still do. You can unravel him, but you can also you tie him back together. You’re the only one who knows how to.
“Why aren’t you my girl, then?” he finally mumbles.
You swallow hard. It’s not that simple. Not even close.
“You know why,” you say.
Rafe wills himself to pull back, leaving your shoulder wet with his tears, sitting inches away from you.
Your eyes are glossy and red. The sight is pure torture for him. You sigh when he swipes his thumb under your eye, wiping away a fresh tear.
“No, I don’t,” he replies, because really, he’d rather be in a fucked up relationship with you than be apart.
His chest twists with unease. That’s why. He’d choose to be miserable together because at least you’re together. You’d rather be happy with him or be nothing at all.
You look down, frustrated that he still doesn’t get it.
“You always said you loved me more, but it was the other way around,” you say. “Loving someone means wanting to be the best person you can, because it’s what they deserve.”
You meet his hardened eyes, feeling dizzy.
“Why didn’t I deserve it?” you ask.
Rafe’s skin goes cold. He pulls you in, his hands cradling your jaw as he meets your lips tenderly, because he can’t go another second without kissing you. You let him. It feels too good not to.
“You do,” he breathes when he shifts back, his nose nudging yours, his hands still holding your face. “You deserve it. You deserve everything.”
“You’re everything,” you whimper impatiently. He expels a breath of relief. The tears welling in his eyes are from happiness this time. You still care about him. There’s no way you don’t.
“I’ll be better,” Rafe says. You’ve heard him say it so many times before. Your heart isn’t fully out of its cage yet, but you’re willing to listen.
“How?” you say.
It’s been tumbling in his mind nonstop. A world where you’re together is all he thinks about. He straightens, palms still on your cheeks, gazing down at your watery eyes.
“I won’t yell at you,” he says. “I won’t control you. I won’t ever hurt you.”
“You can’t promise to never hurt me,” you say, skeptical.
“Watch me.”
Your lips briefly curl into a sad smile that fades away. He nervously licks his lips, needing you so bad that he feels it in his bones.
He’ll make a fool of himself if he has to. He got this far. He’ll spill his guts to you and if you tell him to leave, he’ll pick himself up and go, because at least he tried. He’s half a person these days anyway.
“I was born to be with you,” Rafe whispers through his tears, staring into the beautiful eyes he dreams about every night. “You’ll always be my girl, alright? I love you.”
A wave of hope and fear and excitement and worry crashes into you. You need a second to understand that this is really happening, to come up for breath.
You gaze at him, taking in how soft and sweet he looks. This is Rafe. Not the man who makes you feel like you can’t do anything right. Beneath everything, beneath his anger and his trauma, the person looking at you is who he really is, someone who just needs to feel loved.
“Talk to me, please, baby,” he begs, thumbs stroking your skin. He can’t take the miserable look on your face. “What are you thinking?”
“That it’s impossible not to love you back,” you confess. “I think maybe we… we can try this again.”
Rafe kisses you hard, passion and joy blazing through him, every part of him wanting every part of you.
Even if you tried, you couldn’t keep track of how many kisses he’s leaving on your lips and your cheeks, overcome with love. You sink into the satisfaction and relief of hope. You never thought you’d feel that with him ever again. Hope.
“I’ll be good to you,” he whispers breathlessly, his forehead against yours. “I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you,” you say, your hands dragging up his firm, naked back. “I never stopped.”
Rafe kisses you again and again and again, his head swimming, his heart racing. He won’t fuck this up. He’ll die if he loses you again.
He gently pushes you so you’ll lie on your back and you sigh in pure relief when his hand dips between your legs, sliding his fingers up and down.
He’s painfully aware that you never got the pleasure he did tonight. He needs to give you an orgasm, to make you feel all the happiness he possibly can.
“My girl,” he says. “I’ll only ever make you feel good. I promise.”
He shifts to rest his head on your chest, fondling you as he lies right over your heart. He hears it pounding, feeling so lucky that you made space for him in it and so determined to never let it hurt ever again.
You wrap one arm around his shoulders and the other settles over his cheek, stroking softly as he traces circles right where you need him to. Your breath is shaky, your body loose, craving him in every sense.
“I fucking live for you, you know that?” he whispers, finding heaven in the way you’re panting and moaning.
You writhe beneath him, adoring how he knows what to do, knows when to dip a finger in you, when to move back up to your clit.
You whisper that you love him over and over as you reach your orgasm, mind-blowing pleasure ripping through you, sure you’ve never felt this much physical and emotional relief at once.
As you tumble down into a blissful fog, Rafe continues to gently run his fingers over you, moving up to kiss you again.
“I live for you,” he repeats against your mouth.
You feel the same way. You know now that you two weren’t destined to fall. You were meant to be happy together. It just took some time to get there.
In the 2014 movie, when April finds the tapes of the premutated turtles, it's pretty clear that the boys are red-eared sliders (at least in the lab, ik they're kind of a mashup of different turtles post-mutation, just go with it for this).
Red-eared sliders have a dick that's 30-40% the length of their body - stay with me.
So um... the boys, right?🥲
Mikey is 5'7", Leo 6'4", Raph 6'6", and Donnie 6'8" (according to google)
Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.
A/N: kind of an odd chapter tbh, there was a few things that I wanted to write so it felt best to squeeze them all in together. I want to start getting into the romance side of things with Dean, so I guess that starts here. Also I’ve been away sick so I’ve added a bit of spiciness.
New readers start here: Prologue
Previous Chapter: Chapter 13
I’m Not Your F*cking Maid
Chapter 14
I grasped the hanger off the rail and slung the pair of flared jeans over my arm to join the other items I was purchasing. Dean had been kind enough to give me a hundred bucks in cash - God knows where from - to get myself whatever I needed whilst he and Sam sauntered off to the menswear stores. As I browsed, lifting a crocheted crop top up before scrunching my nose at the thought of how little it would cover, the bell to the store jingled as someone else walked in. I heard footsteps slowly pace down the short aisle I was in, and as I placed the top back on the rail, I almost jumped out of my skin as someone started talking.
“Oh hey, it's (Y/n) right? You're bunking with the Winchester boys?”
I snapped my head up at the female voice, not expecting anyone out here but Sam and Dean to know my name. My eyes met a pair of warm brown ones, faint crows feet in the corners from years of joy and smiles. I recognised her; she was the short haired woman in the bunker kitchen the night we got back from the strip club.
“Uuhhhh ye- yes! You know Sam and Dean?” My expression was clearly confused as she grinned and held out her hand.
“The names Jody Mills. I've known the boys for a while now - through hunting. It's a pleasure to meet you at last - I've heard great things about you,” I juggled the clothing in my arms and grasped her outstretched hand, giving it a firm shake. She seemed to grin at that.
“Oh, they talk about me? I had no idea,” I suddenly felt a little nervous, the knowledge that I've been the topic of conversations unbeknownst to myself made me sweat a little. Jody seemed to notice this.
“They've only had great things to say, so don't panic! Especially that boy Dean. Not sure how you've done it chick but you really got that wild card wrapped around your little finger,” she raised her eyebrows almost suggestively and I felt heat start to prickle my skin.
“Wh-what? No no no, he's not-” I watched as her head tilted in my direction, eyebrows still raised as a slight grin tugged on her lips. “Have I really?”
She hummed and nodded her head, starting to flick through the clothing rail that I'd been looking at before.
“I've known that boy a few years now, and I've never seen him run to anyone the way he ran to you that night you appeared in the kitchen, looking like a kicked kitten,” she smiled softly and squeezed my arm, “you're something special to him honey, so try not to break his heart.”
“Oh,” was all I managed to say, with what I can imagine was the dumbest look on my face as I felt myself getting redder by the second. A phone ringing suddenly pulled me from my dazed thoughts as Jody reached into her pocket and answered the call. She spoke in a sterner tone than what she'd used with me, and after a few words were exchanged she hung up and returned the device to her pocket.
“I've gotta get going, but I'll try and catch you all again later. I'm in the area for a bit so I'll try and pop by. It was lovely to meet you (Y/n),” she squeezed my arm one last time before turning to leave, the bell on the door signalling her departure. I stood for a moment, my mind spinning from what she'd said about Dean. There was absolutely no way that what she'd said was true. I mean, I beat the crap out of him when we first met, and we've bickered a lot. I guess we've not argued for a good few days. And we've had sex. Oh the sex. I bit my lip as thoughts of us tangled in his sheets came to mind. Not just thoughts, but memories. Like I said to him this morning, we're just fuck buddies. Right?
*
Leaving the store with two large paper bags in one hand and my phone in the other, I first dialled Sam to find out where he was down this stretch of high street. When it went to voicemail, I hung up and dialled Deans number instead. It rang and rang, and when I thought his was going to ring through as well, he finally answered.
“Hey sweetheart, what's up?”
“Hey, I'm finished getting what I need. Whereabouts are you?”
“Uhhh…” I heard him turn to the shop assistant and ask for the name of the store he was in before he relayed it to me.
“Cool, I'll be there in two minutes. See you soon.”
“See ya.”
And with a click I hung up and tucked my phone into my back pocket and walked no more than two hundred yards to get to where he was still trying on boots. As I gingerly walked in, well aware it was a men's store and I was currently the only woman in here, Deans head snapped to the door when the arrival bell jingled.
“Hey sweetheart, you're just in time! I have no idea what to get.”
I couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the thought of the great Dean Winchester getting stumped by the more domesticated side of life.
“Well I'm here to help,” I placed my bags on the bench next to his discarded jacket. “What are the options?”
We must've spent half an hour going over the ones he'd shortlisted, then he chose an entirely different pair anyway, unrelated to the ones he'd picked out for himself.
Leaving the store and a quick phone call between the brothers, we all concluded that now was the best time to stop for lunch. Dean and I made a quick trip back to Baby to drop off our bags, with Dean opting to sport his brand new boots in favour of his old and decrepit ones. It was a short walk back to the high street now that we were bag free, and I could see Sam a mile off - his tall frame loitering outside the chosen diner, the occasional woman walking past throwing a few looks his way. He, of course, was oblivious to those looks, and when he spotted us as we neared he offered a wave. He sprouted a wide, friendly grin as we came to stand next to him.
“You guys get everything you need?”
“Yep! Took Cinderella a while to find the right boots but we got there in the end,” I flashed Dean a playful smirk as he tilted his head in slight annoyance at the nickname, which pulled a light hearted laugh from Sam.
“Oh yeah? Well, at least I didn’t spend twenty bucks on a thrifted Carhartt hoodie.”
“Hey that is durable shit, it’s worth every penny.”
“You could've had one of mine, I don't wear hoodies much anymore.”
“I somehow feel like there'd be a catch with that.”
“Uuhh, I got my jacket, if anyone cares?” Sam decided to interject, and we both turned to look at him.
“Good for you Sammy.”
“Yeah, nice one Sam,” I looked around for a second, not seeing any bags, “where is it?”
He gave me a funny look.
“What?”
“Seriously?” He asked, looking between Dean and myself. I looked at the older Winchester and seemed to have the same questions I did.
“Guys, I’m wearing it. Did you seriously not notice?”
I bit my lip.
“It looks exactly the same,” Dean spoke my own thoughts out loud.
“Well I mean technically it is. But it's not all scuffed up. Look you can clearly tell it's new,” he gestured with his hands that were still in his pockets, flapping the jacket around like he was an elongated flying squirrel.
“Not really.”
“Nope,” Dean popped the ‘p’ before he walked past both of us, “come on guys I'm starving, can we just go in?”
*
A simple lunch in the diner turned into beers in the bar which somehow turned into karaoke followed by shots. The place was bustling - all tables and booths occupied and a permanent flow of people ordering drinks. Most of the guys were of similar tastes, donning boots and leather jackets whilst the few women that were there pranced around in short-shorts and low cut tops. I for one felt a little out of place. The three of us were lucky to snag a booth, albeit close to the small stage situated up front, and I’d tucked myself into the corner, cradling my rum and coke. Dean had left his jacket beside me whilst he’d ventured off to challenge a group of guys to a ‘friendly’ game of pool, his laugh occasionally flowing over the chatter and music towards where Sam and I were sitting.
“How long do you think it’ll be until they realise they’re being conned?” I quizzed, taking a gulp from my glass and letting the bubbles fizz on my tongue before swallowing. Sam chuckled, taking a second before answering.
“Uhhh I don’t think these guys will find out until tomorrow morning.” We both laughed, knowing full well that Dean will spend all night gloating about how great he is, how we should bow in respect of the swindle master. I was lost in thought for a moment, wondering how much money he would actually walk away with when Sam’s voice pulled me back to reality.
“(Y/n), can I ask you something?”
I took another gulp of my drink, knowing full well what that puppy-dog look in Sam’s eyes meant, that furrow in his brow only accentuating it.
“Sure, go ahead.”
He took a breath.
“Are you ok? Like, really ok? Because if I’m honest, if I saw someone who I thought was dead - that I used to be in love with - stand before me after years of believing I’d never see them again; I don’t think I would be ok.”
I fiddled with the hem of Deans shirt sleeve for a second, my brain swarming with every thought I’ve been avoiding since the other night and keeping every little buzz under lock and key. I hated to admit it, but I was afraid to open Pandora’s box for the fear of ice cold confrontation. It wasn’t the wisest option, but putting the skeletons back in their closet and throwing out the key was what I genuinely thought was best. I let out an emotionally exhausted sigh before slumping back in my seat.
“I’m not ok. It still feels like some sort of fucked up fever dream, but… but thinking about it isn’t going to make me feel any better. Talking about someone who’s been dead to me for years isn’t going to take this messed up feeling away. In my mind, there’s nothing to get over where he’s concerned. Yeah, he was my teenage sweetheart, but I’m a grown woman now with a whole new brain and a whole new heart,” I could’ve kicked myself for letting my eyes flick over to Dean.
Sam sighed, resting his elbows on the table, a small smile twitching on his lips.
“If you’re sure, because you know I’m always here if you want to talk.”
“I know, thanks Sam,” I gave him a soft smile, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “Although, just one thing…”
“What’s that?” He sat up straighter.
“I don’t think it’s Daniel as a person that has me feeling like this - I grieved him and moved on from him years ago. I think… I think it’s the thought of that soul crushing sorrow coming back that scares me the most. The kind of sorrow that makes you forget what day it is; that stops you from eating and going outside and taking care of yourself. It makes you lose friends and interest in hobbies. It makes the whole world look grey and lifeless. You feel so unbearably numb that you aren’t even sure why you’re alive anymore. It makes you want to die.”
“(Y/n)…” Sam seemed at a loss for any other words as he held my hand softly across the table, running his thumb gently over my knuckles. I took a deep breath before carrying on.
“I felt like that when I lost Daniel, but when I lost Bobby, I… I…” I felt my voice crack slightly, “when I lost Bobby it was so much worse, I genuinely never thought I’d be normal ever again. Luckily for me, Charlie found me,” I grinned, remembering her determination to piece me back together. I looked up from where our hands joined, meeting Sam’s gaze.
“The only way I’d go through any of that again would be if I was to lose you guys. I know it’s not been long, but for once I’ve found something that makes me want to get out of bed in the mornings. That shit is hard to find.”
We both took a moment, feeling the weight of my words as we shared a gaze. I knew from the way his brows drew together and that far away look in his eyes that he felt everything I’d said. He’d experienced it first hand. And he knew that he didn’t have to say much, if anything, to convey that he understood. Slowly pulling my hand out from under his and placing my palm over his knuckles, I gave a gentle squeeze before standing, letting him go and grasping my glass. I threw the last mouthful back, the liquid vigorously fizzing down my throat before warming my chest. As I swallowed, I held my glass up and raised an eyebrow at Sam.
“Well shit, would you look at that - my glass is empty. Guess I’m heading to the bar. You need a top up?”
“Yeah, please. Remind me to get the next round,” he grinned as I slid out the booth and headed towards the bar. As I waded through the crowd I passed the pool table, glancing over at Dean who was deeply engrossed in taking a player's hard earned money out of his grasp. I watched the smug grin spread over his lips as he counted then pocketed the cash.
I looked up to see an opening at the bar so I squeezed in, perching myself on a stale beer-scented barstool whilst I waited for the barman to notice me. After a couple of minutes of being served he placed the drinks before me and I paid on one of Deans ‘special’ credit cards, scooping all three glasses into my grasp - with an insane amount of skill - and turned to leave. The moment my ass left the seat cushion however I found myself toe-to-toe with a very tall and very rugged stranger, the smell of cigarettes and old leather wafting around him.
“Not seen you around these parts before doll; I know I’d recognise such a pretty face,” he had a grim smirk on his face and his voice was like sandpaper - rough but certainly not sexy. I tried to take a step back but only ended up seated back on the barstool.
“Just passing through,” I did my best to flash a polite smile in the hopes he would sense I didn’t want to have this conversation. No such luck.
“A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be in a place like this all alone. Things might…happen.”
A shudder ascended my spine into my neck and I tried my best to subtly shake it out before I gave into my more defensive side.
“Who the fuck do you think I am with this many drinks? They’re clearly not all mine… ergo, I have company.”
His gross grin widened, the subject of my statement clearly not settling correctly in the empty space between his ears.
“Getting feisty… I like it. Can’t get much better than a little thing with a mouth.”
I shuddered again.
“What part of ‘I have company’ do you not fucking understand? And even if I was alone, I definitely wouldn’t be going anywhere with you.”
His grimy smirk faltered slightly, finally absorbing some of my words that seemed to be floating in the air around his thick skull.
“Aw don’t be like that.”
“Oh I’m gonna ‘be like that’ until you leave me the fuck alone.”
He took a lumbering step forwards, pushing me further onto the barstool.
“See now there’s a point when a mouth on a pretty thing becomes down right obnoxious, and you’re nearing that point sweetheart.”
“Don’t you fucking ‘sweetheart’ me you dick,” I was mentally preparing to buy another round of drinks as the thought of throwing these three at this asshole was becoming sweeter by the second, and people were starting to watch on but there wasn’t a single white knight in sight.
“Well now you’ve just crossed that line,” the second I saw him start to raise his arms my instincts kicked in and I gave into my previous thought and doused him in liquor, the amber liquid running down his face and neck and soaking into his clothes. He looked down at himself in disbelief before lifting his head back up, this time baring his teeth and raising his hand as if to slap me. I reflexively raised my arms and squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for impact.
“You stupid bitch.”
“If you touch a hair on her goddamn head ‘imma put you six feet under.”
My eyes shot open and I lowered my hands to see a seething Dean Winchester, a single strong hand wrapped around my harasser's wrist.
“Who the fuck are you?”
The faintest smirk pulled at the corner of Deans mouth before disappearing as quickly as it appeared, leaving nothing but quiet rage burning across his features.
“I’m about to be your biggest fucking problem.”
Before the asshole could even react Deans hand went from twelve O’clock to six O’clock in half a second with a sickening snap, breaking the jerks elbow with deadly skill. Practised skill. Whilst my harasser cried out and cradled his limp arm, Dean let go of him before a few of the onlookers gave Dean a nod of approval before escorting the creep out. Once he knew he was out of the building, Dean turned to me, softly grasping my chin between his thumb and index finger.
“Are you ok? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He tilted my face left and right, scrutinising over my unharmed skin. When he was sure that there wasn’t a scratch on me he let go, relief flooding his gaze as he sighed.
“Dean I’m fine, I promise,” I reached up, fingers hesitantly grazing his stubbled cheek before I thought better of it and dropped my hand to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
“I swear to God (Y/n), if he’d laid a finger on you he’d get a lot more than a busted elbow,” his hand came to rest on my bicep, his long fingers gently wrapping around my arm in subconscious comfort, almost pulling me towards him. My own hand seemed to slide down from his shoulder to rest softly on his chest, my fingertips feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath.
“I know,” I reassured, giving him a little smile to which he returned. I felt my soft smile turn mischievous as thoughts started conjuring in my mind.
“Come on, Sam is waiting for another drink, let's order and get back to the table.”
The bartender had seen Dean step in to help me, so luckily for us this round was on the house. As we slid into the booth opposite Sam I slid his drink over to him.
“What happened back there?” He asked, mildly concerned.
“Just some asshole thinking I was gonna leave this place with him,” I sighed, sitting down, Dean taking his seat beside me. Sam's eyes flicked between the two of us.
“I'm sure I saw him leave with his arm all out of shape, was that-”
“Yeah well, shrimp-dick had it coming,” Dean was doing his best to act nonchalant, however the moment our eyes met over the top of our drinks we couldn't stop the giggles from tumbling out.
“Guys, Dean, you can't go around breaking elbows-”
“Relax Sammy. No one's gonna say anything, they all saw him acting like a creep. Just didn't have the balls to step in. Anyway,” a darker look clouded his eyes as his gaze bore into his younger brother, “he was harassing our girl, Sam. Ain't no way in Hell I was gonna let that slide.”
There was a moment of thick silence before Sam nodded, finally agreeing with Deans actions, knowing that if it had come down to it, he might've done the same. I raised my glass to my lips, taking a long sip before placing it back on the table, looking between the boys as they continued to have some sort of silent conversation that I wasn't a part of. The mischievous thoughts from earlier kept bubbling in my mind, and it didn't take any self-convincing for me to act on them. I shuffled slightly closer to Dean, not enough to draw attention to myself but enough to be in touching distance. I glanced up at him, making sure he was totally unaware and focused on his drink before I reached out slowly, letting my soft fingertips glide over the rough denim of his jeans. I glanced up at him when I heard him inhale his drink, spluttering slightly as I squeezed the inside of his thigh. I traced the length of his inseam, watching his grip on his glass tighten, the tanned skin over his knuckles paling.
“You ok there?” I asked, feigning concern with a quirk of a brow.
“Oh I'm just peachy sweetheart,” his voice came out low, lower than I think he was expecting it to as his eyes nervously darted to Sam who was too busy opening his laptop to notice. Dean leant back on the bench, the worn leather creaking under his weight. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, pausing for a moment before lifting his arm closest to me, as though inviting me to sit closer. Eager to oblige I scooted towards him, nibbling my bottom lip when I felt his large hand rest softly on my back, subconsciously pulling me in. I crossed one leg over the other, turning into him slightly, tilting my head to get a better look at his face.
“I think I left something in the car, would you mind coming with me whilst I grab it?”
He looked a little puzzled for a moment before shotting the last of his whiskey and nodding his head.
“Sure thing,” he turned to his brother, “hey Sammy, we’ll be back in a few.”
Sam grunted a reply, too lost in the article he was reading to pay much attention to us. Dean slid out of the booth and held his hand out to me, which I grasped. His long rough fingers enveloped my hand as he pulled me to my feet. Leaving his jacket behind, we left the bar and made our way to the impala.
The night air had turned chilly, biting at my flushed cheeks as we paced across the lot, taking all of about thirty seconds to reach the impala. Dean was a few steps ahead of me, having unlocked the rear passenger door by the time I'd arrived.
“There you are, grab what you ne- whoa!”
He was caught off guard when I placed my hands on his chest and pushed him down into the car, his broad form filling the space in the back with ease. I climbed in after him, closing the door and crawling along the back bench towards him. It took a moment, but Dean eventually caught on.
“Oh, I’m liking where this is going.”
I chewed at my bottom lip, watching him settle beneath me as he propped up slightly on his elbows, the fabric of his T-shirt stretching thin over his muscular chest.
“I wanted to thank you for being my hero. That’s the second time you’ve rescued me - I wanted to thank you properly. You know, to really show my appreciation.”
It was Deans turn to pull his bottom lip between his teeth, the corners of his plush lips turning up.
“You know, I’m starting to think you might be trouble,” his voice was getting lower with every word, each syllable rumbling in his chest and vibrating into my fingertips.
I couldn’t help but chuckle at his words, feeling some truth to them as I scooted down the bench to sit between his legs before slipping into the large footwell. I patted the seat in front of me, and it didn’t even take a second for Dean to slide himself into it, sitting up straight. As I sat between his knees and looked up at him, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sight; the way the streetlights painted his face in warm amber, softening his battle-hardened features and reflecting in his eyes like dancing embers from a stoked fire. The shadows didn’t seem contradictory - the darkness we were sitting in was far from cold. Dean Winchester was not an artistic man by any means, but he himself was certainly a masterpiece.
I reached up and unbuckled his belt along with the button on his jeans, carefully dragging the zipper down after and tugging the thick fabric along with his boxers off his hips; just enough to dip my hand in and pull out his cock, already hot and heavy in my palm. He made an almost strained noise on contact and my stomach fluttered at the thought of him being so sensitive. So sensitive at my mercy. I adjusted my grip on him before going up and down, once… twice… three times… over and over at a sinfully slow pace. His hands gripped his thighs like they had nowhere else to go, and when I looked up he was watching every move I was making with knotted brows and parted lips. His eyes only found mine when I straightened my back and leant forwards, gliding my tongue up the thick length of him but avoiding the tip. Mimicking my hand, I licked up and down again and again, ever so slowly gaining speed before I finally dragged my tongue over his tip and plunged his whole cock down my throat.
“Oh fuck,” Dean gasped out, his large palms flying to my hair - long fingers knotting with the soft strands. I could tell he wanted nothing more than to shove my head down as far as it would go, but his self restraint shone through. I started to move, slowly at first, head bobbing without missing a beat. The feeling of his cock pressing against the back of my throat over and over was fine at first, but the longer I sucked him off the urge to gag grew. The size of Deans cock was not something to be taken lightly, and after a couple of minutes the impending gag hit and I pulled him out of my mouth.
“Shit, (Y/n)… How are you so good at this?” He hissed out in a breath I’m sure he’d been holding since I'd started. I assumed the question was rhetorical as I gave him a few pumps, swallowing the excess spit and precum on my tongue before leaning back in. One by one I placed hot, wet kisses up his length, placing the final one on his tip before I pulled it back into my mouth. With the new found sensitivity of my gag reflex ever-present, I avoided taking him too far down my throat, this time using one hand to reach where my mouth couldn't at his base. Adding a little twist, I felt his grip tighten once again in my hair, his long fingers absently scooping loose strands away from my face. The combination of feeling him lose his mind beneath me and the tenderness of his touch sent a flutter to my heart which quickly travelled south at the sound of his euphoric groan, his head lolling back and eyes closing. As I pressed my tongue to the large vein scaling his length I could feel his rapid pulse, my own heart rate almost as fast as his. As I continued to bob my head, I could feel him gather all my hair in one hand, his other softy tracing down over my temple, my cheek and my lips before stopping at my chin, a single swipe from his thumb removing most if the spit and precum that was threatening to stream down my neck. I would consider my next move a grave mistake - looking up through my damp lashes to meet Deans white-hot gaze fixated and fascinated with every little motion I made. The blissed-out look in his eyes could have turned a weaker woman into a puddle right then and there, and I surprised myself with my own resilience. He continued to hold me with one hand in my hair and a soft grip on my chin, my own free hand moving to grip him near the inside of his thigh. Another soft moan slipped from his lips as I started to speed up, not caring for the ache in my jaw or mess he was now too preoccupied to swipe away. I was surprised when no words left Deans lips, his usual blasphemous language replaced with velvety moans of pleasure. I could tell he was nearing his peak when his cock twitched between my lips, again and again before before he finally groaned out a strained:
“Fuck, oh shit.”
His grip tightened, like he was trying to pull me off him, however when that telltale throb made his cock graze the back of my throat I removed my hand from his base and enveloped him in his entirety, a final, breathy gasp and groan tumbling from Deans lips before the sensation of warm, viscous liquid spilled across the back of my tongue. It took a moment for the ropes to stop coming, and when they did I pulled him from my mouth slowly, looking up at his breathless form. Not taking my eyes from his, I parted my lips slightly to show his cum, glazing my tongue, before closing my mouth and swallowing the thick liquid down. He let out another groan, his grip finally releasing my hair as he ran his hands over his face, taking a moment for his eyes to find mine again.
“Holy shit, sweetheart… I feel like I just died and went to heaven.”
I couldn't stop the stupid giggle spilling from my lips as I wiped the spit from my lips and chin with the bottom of Deans shirt that I was wearing.
“For a moment there I thought you had too.”
He grinned down at me, perhaps a little bashful as he tucked himself back into his pants and refastened his belt. As he finished up, a few moments of silence hung over us as I still remained nestled between his strong thighs. His eyes met mine and they seemed to hold a thousand words that he wanted to say, and when nothing came from his lips he simply held out his hand to pull me into his lap. Just as my fingers grazed his, however, there was a loud rap at the window which spooked both of us out of our skin.
“Motherfucker,” Dean muttered before rolling down the window, and a small wave of guilt and embarrassment washed over me when I heard Sam's disbelieving yet humoured voice coming from outside.
I've been thinking and thinking, trying to pinpoint exactly what it was that got me into monster fucking/loving. Was it something I saw or heard, or did it just spring up all on its own? I've been racking my brain trying to figure it out. And then I realized it was this! This right here:
The garden scene from Dracula (1992)! This came out before I was even born! At the time, I didn't even know the terms 'monster fucker' or 'teratophillia' were even a thing, but I swear, the first time I saw this, I was like, "I gotta have me some of that!"
summary - when reader goes to hang out with kiara and sarah, rafe gives her no choice as he tags along. he doesn’t trust kiara’s pogue friends around reader, and his protective side gets the best of him.
Tonight was the bonfire. An annual, summer bonfire that the pogues throw every year. Normally, kooks are never invited. But, Sarah and I are the only exceptions as Kiara’s best friends. Sarah has been integrated into their group even more so, now that she’s with John B.
But as for me, they still—even after almost ten years of being Kiara’s friend—hold distain toward me. It only got worse when I started dating the kook prince, Rafe Cameron.
John B, JJ, and Pope always have something to say about me and dating Rafe only added fuel to their fire.
I don’t care though. Kiara and Sarah are my best friends and these boys that make up this stupid kooks vs. pogues rivalry aren’t getting in the way of that.
I was excited for tonight, picking out my outfit as I stepped out of the steaming bathroom in my towel. That was until my boyfriend made an utterly insane suggestion.
“What time are we leaving?” Rafe asks nonchalantly as he steps into the room, flopping down onto my bed, and staring at the ceiling.
I pause, spinning around, holding a top in my hand, “We?” He props himself up on his elbows, furrowing his eyebrows at me.
“Yeah, we. What you think I’d just be unbothered by you hanging out with those pogues? It’s not like I’m going to stop you from going, that’s your choice, and I have no problems with Kiara. I know you’re best friends. It’s her pogue friends I don’t trust. I’m not gonna sit here on my ass while you’re at the bonfire with JJ fucking you with his eyes from across the beach.” He states, like it was plainly obvious.
I sigh, sitting down next to him on the bed. “Babe, I love you, but is it really the best idea for you to go? You hate them. I don’t want to start anything.”
“Oh, I won’t,” he assures. “Trust me, I’ll keep to myself, sitting next to you, drinking a beer, minding my business. As long as JJ doesn’t try anything.” He shrugs.
“What do you mean? JJ won’t do anything what’re you—“
“Every time we’re around Kiara, he’s there. And his eyes are on you. Or he says something rude to you. I don’t like it. Only I get to look at you like that, you’re my girl. If he so much as looks in your direction, I’ll make sure he knows you’re mine, that’s all.” Rafe explains, leaning down to slip his shoes on.
“Okay fine. But please, Rafe. I’m begging, don’t do anything stupid. I don’t want this night to be ruined, I just wanna hang out with my friends.” I say, nervous about how Rafe’s behavior easily gets out of hand, especially around JJ.
Rafe sits up, putting his hand on my thigh, and looking right in my eyes. “I know—I know I can get carried away sometimes. And I’m sorry, I just—I need to protect what’s mine, okay? They already took my sister from me, there’s no shot I’d ever let them take you from me too. I don’t trust they won’t hurt you, okay? I just need to be there. Just in case, okay?”
I press my lips together, “Okay. Just promise me, don’t start anything.”
He pauses, contemplating, “Unless he does?”
I roll my eyes, “Fine unless he does.”
Rafe smiles, satisfied, “Then, yes. I promise.” He places a kiss on my cheek.
I get up and walk back to the closet, throwing a pair of denim shorts on the bed and two tops, “Which top?” I turn around and look at Rafe.
He inspects both of them. One being a white tube top with pink lily flowers on it, the other being a crochet multi-colored tube top.
“Mhmm, the flower one.”
I smile at him, grabbing the outfit and changing. I slip on my adidas sambas and grab my purse. “Ready?” I ask him. He says nothing, just staring at me.
I step closer to him, waving my hand in front of his face. “Helloooo??” He just chuckles, pushing my hand down, his hands landing on my hips, and pulling me closer.
“Do we have to go?”
I smile, brushing my hands over his buzzed hair, “Yes, Rafe. C’mon, let’s go.”
He groans, resting his head on my stomach. He places small kisses along my stomach, “But if we stay here,” his hand slides back toward my ass. “I could entertain you.”
My cheeks turn pink as I almost give in, but shake back to reality. “No, c’mon. I promised Kie.” I pat my hand on his back as I step away. “Let’s go.”
He groans, standing and coming to my side. He grabs my hand and walks out the bedroom with me, “Fine.”
I chuckle and lean up, placing a kiss on his shoulder as we walk down the stairs. He opens the front door for me and we head to my drive away. He opens the door of his truck and buckles me in before rounding to the drivers side. My music automatically connects every time we get into his car and it always makes me smile.
-
Rafe parks the car as we arrive at the beach, and I spot Kiara and all her friends by the shore, sitting around the fire while the beach is packed with everyone from the cut.
Rafe opens my door for me, grabbing my hand as I hop out of his truck. He shuts the door and rests his hands on my shoulders, looking out to the beach, and letting out a long sigh. “Oh, stop. It’ll be fine, okay, just try to have fun. For me?”
He rolls his eyes, playfully. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get this over with so I can have you back at Tannyhill tonight all to myself.”
I chuckle, grabbing onto his hand and pulling him down toward the beach. I go to the bonfire, where Kie sits with Sarah.
“Kie!”
She turns around, grinning. She gets up and runs over to me, embracing in a hug. “Oh my god,” she gushes, grabbing onto my shoulders. “It’s been forever.”
Her gaze moves to my right where Rafe stands, rigid and unmoving like some kind of guard dog. “And Rafe,” she grumbles.
“Hello to you too Kie,” He smiles condescendingly.
To try to lessen the tension, I turn to Rafe. “Could you go get me a drink, please?” I widen my eyes at him.
He sighs, nodding before walking off.
“Why is he here?” Sarah asks as I go to sit with her and Kie.
“Trust me, I thought it was a bad idea too, but there was no stopping him.” I shrug. “He won’t start anything, trust me.”
Rafe walks back over to us, handing me my drink. He looks over at Sarah, rolling his eyes. “The pogue princess.”
Sarah scoffs, “Oh shut up.”
Rafe opens his mouth to say something again, but when I shoot him a look, he groans but keeps his words to himself.
As the night goes on, Rafe does exactly as promised. I sit with Kie and Sarah, catching up. While Rafe sits beside me, holding one of my hands in his lap as he fidgets with my rings and bracelets, just counting the seconds till he could take me home.
“Well, y’know John B and I got.. married.”
I whip my head around, “What?! Oh my god?”
She chuckles, “Yeah.. kinda of spur of the moment type thing. Not much thought into it—I’m honestly not sure it’s actually legal either but, yeah.”
“Congra—“ I begin before getting cut off by the one person I was praying would not come over here tonight.
“Y/n, what a surprise.” JJ exclaims, walking over to where we were. “And Cameron. Of course,” he says sarcastically.
I feel Rafe tense next to me, his grip on my hand getting stronger. “Can’t say I’m thrilled to see you either, Maybank.”
“You’re the one on the cut. This is a pogue bonfire. Why the fuck are you even here? And with miss kook princess, over here?” JJ looks over at me, then back at Rafe.
“Rafe,” I warn, looking at him as his jaw clenches and he lets go of my hand.
Rafe stands, facing JJ. “I was willing to leave you alone, as long as you left her alone but clearly, that’s not possible for you.” Rafe pushes at JJ’s chest.
“Stop, Rafe.” Sarah shouts, standing and trying to push JJ away. When her attempts don’t work, she waves over John B.
“Rafe, let’s just go,” I stand, tugging at his hand.
“Yeah,” JJ agrees. “Listen to your bitch and go.”
“What the hell, JJ?” Kie stands, even her agreeing her best friend is being an asshole.
Rafe chuckles, his tongue poking at his cheek as he pulls his hand from my grasp, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt. “The fuck did you just say?”
“I said take your bitch and go.” JJ spits.
Rafe pushes JJ down and he falls onto the sand, Rafe straddling him as he lands punch after punch. “You always gotta start shit,” Rafe says, blood coating his shirt and knuckles.
“JJ he’s not worth it!” John B shouts, finally making his way over. John B attempts to grab Rafe’s shoulders and pull him off but Rafe pushes John B, causing him to stumble back.
“Rafe, what the hell!” Sarah shouts, going to John B’s side.
I go to grab Rafe’s arm, causing him to stop punching JJ, not wanting to accidentally hurt me. When Rafe pauses, JJ takes the chance and flips Rafe over, landing a punch square to his jaw. “Y/n needs to come around without you sometimes. She’s pretty hot for a kook,” JJ chuckles.
At this, Rafe gets his strength and punches JJ in the jaw so hard, JJ falls off of Rafe, landing on his back in the sand. Kiara goes to JJ and I grab Rafe, trying to pull him away as fast as possible. Rafe shakes from my grip one last time and goes to stand over JJ.
“Stop! Let’s just go, c’mon!” I groan, everyone on the beach now circling the bonfire watching this unfold.
“Listen to her Rafe! Get out of here before the cops get here, just leave!” Sarah shouts, her brows furrowed in anger.
“Talk about her again, Maybank. You won’t live to see the next fucking day.” Rafe spits, standing up and walking over to me. He goes to grab my hand but I refuse, walking past him to the truck.
“Y/n!” He shouts, following after me. I lean against the passenger door, waiting for him.
He walks over, slumped over, feeling defeated even though he technically won the fight, he knows he made me upset. He stands in front of me, unlocking the truck with his keys and I turn around, getting in before he could open the door for me, and shutting it without a word.
When he rounds the car and gets in on the drivers side, I turn on the overhead light and grab his jaw, inspecting his face.
His lips is busted open, a bruise already forming around his cheekbone. Blood splattered across his cheek, neck, and shirt. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “But I couldn’t stand there while he said that shit about you.”
“You could’ve let it go and we could’ve just left. I just wanted a normal night to hang out with Kie and now they just have more reason to hate you. And you’re hurt.” I sigh, my thumb gently brushing along his cheekbone.
“No, I couldn’t have. You can be mad at me forever, I don’t care—I’ll always defend you. Even if that means you hate me. I’ll always protect you.” He replies, putting his keys in the engine and starting the car.
I sigh, and lean back, looking out the window. There’s nothing more I could say. When Rafe had his mind set on something, you couldn’t change it. Especially when it came to protecting the people he loved. He’s a naturally protective and territorial person. Nothing can get through his mind when he’s in that violent state, just wanting to protect the people he loves.
After a very silent ride, we arrive back at Tannyhill. Rafe parks in the driveway, pausing before getting out. “Do you want to be here? I can take you home if you don’t want to be around me, I understand—“
“What?” I ask, turning to face him.
“You’re upset. I went too far. I figured you didn’t want to be with me right now.”
“No, Rafe, no,” I sigh, my hand coming to rest on his thigh. “I’m upset at everything that happened but, I’m not mad at you. I think there might’ve been a better way to handle it, but I’m not mad. Let’s just go inside okay? And talk?”
Rafe nods, stepping out of the car and coming to my side, opening the door. My hand finds his as he helps me out and we make our way to the front door.
Quietly, he opens the door to the very empty, quiet, home. Ever since Ward died, I stay over at Rafe’s almost every night. Rafe said he feels lonely at home. Even though Rose and Wheezie still live there, it’s not the same. And tonight, Rose was away on the mainland and Wheezie was staying over at a friend’s house.
Rafe guides me up the stairs, the stairs I’ve walked up countless times. To the familiar route of his room, but I pull him off into the bathroom next to his room.
“What’re you—“
“Shh,” I shush him, patting the counter, indicating him to sit. He sighs, but follows, sitting on the counter patiently.
I reach into the medicine cabinet, pulling out the first aid kit. I grab a wipe, taking away the excess blood so I can clearly see where he’s hurt. I treat his busted lip, Rafe flinching as I put disinfectant on his lips.
“Is it because of your mom?” I ask softly.
He stiffens, and asks, “What do you mean?”
He knows what I mean.
“The overprotectiveness. Is it because of what happened to your mom?” I question.
He sighs, shrugging. “Sort of, I guess. When I was younger I felt like her death was my fault. Ever since then I’ve always wanted to protect what’s mine, everyone close to me. But, it got so.. intensified when we got together. I never protected anyone as strongly as I do with you.”
I nod, staying silent as I inspect his hands. I didn’t speak because, I had a feeling he wasn’t done. Like he had so much more to say. He’s not very good at expressing his emotions. So when he does, I try to give him all the room to vent.
“Does it bother you? Or scare you? I don’t mean to. I just can’t help it. I could never forgive myself if something happened to you and I wasn’t there to defend you. Just like I couldn’t defend my mom, I guess.”
I press my lips together, grabbing the wrap from the kit. “It doesn’t scare me in the way you think. I just don’t want you to go too far one day and do something you’ll regret. Or hurt yourself beyond repair. That’s what scares me.”
He doesn’t say anything, watching silently as I wrap his bruises knuckles. “I just hate him. All of them. They took everything from me. I won’t let them take you. I hate the way they look at you. The way he looks at you. The things they say.” His jaw clenches just thinking about it.
“They don’t know you. They don’t understand how truly selfless and kind you are. They don’t know shit. I hate the way they talk about you. Some friend Kiara is for not fucking defending you either—“ His voice begins to raise.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” I sigh, finishing bandaging his hand. “Look let’s just go to bed, okay? It’s been a long night.” I pat his knee and move from between his legs. He slips off the counter and I gently put my hand in his.
He follows me like a lost puppy to his own bedroom.
His room is the polar opposite of mine and it always makes me smile. When he’s in my room, seeing him curled up on my fluffy pink bed, and me in his cold, plain room in my frilly pink pajamas I keep in his dresser. Rafe goes in his closet and finds some clothes to change into while I change into pajamas from my designated drawer in his room.
I sit on his bed as I wait for him, closing my eyes. I hear his footsteps and look over at him, he’s shirtless, in only some basketball shorts. He flicks off his bedside light and gets under the covers.
I scoot closer, resting my head in the crook of his neck. His hand runs gently, up and down my back, the room falling quiet with just our breathing.
“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be better,” He confesses, causing my heart to shatter into a million pieces.
I sigh, looking up at him. I place a kiss on his jaw, smiling into his neck. “It’s okay. I understand now why you do it. You just need to talk to me, yeah? But maybe just try to not beat people up so terribly.” I chuckle, pointing at his bruises.
“Hey, you should see the other guy,” He jokes, grinning down at me.
I smile softly, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Goodnight.”
Rafe smiles, his fingers brushing through my hair. “Goodnight, pretty girl.”
andulkaphoto
vaporwave
pixelskylines
baratheonpilled
izzy806
origamiaround
