I want to watch the stars with you

You were incredible on the ground; of that, there was no doubt. Buildings could topple, crumble, crash around you, and lasers could be firing from all angles, but you would still persist, still heal, still fulfill your duty. Sweat could pour down your forehead and the salt would sting your eyes, and yet you would never falter once.

Still, nobody is perfect. When someone is that effective on the field, it only makes sense that they would become the focus of enemy fire, and eventually, something is bound to hit. You see Castle’s turret assembling in the distance and prepare for the worst.

“Punisher’s got a turret! Find cove-augh!” Your warning cuts off when several bullets embed themself into the shoulder of your suit, and you hiss at the sharp ache that echoes from the site of your new wounds. The durable material is strong enough to keep them from piercing the skin, but that doesn’t make the pain much better. When you try to roll your arm, to get back in the fight, a searing agony burns at the edge of your clavicle. There’s definitely a clicking sensation that wasn’t there before. 

Heaving a breath, you duck behind a crumbling wall, clutching your arm. Healing energy courses through your fingertips and finds its way to your shoulder, and you tense and shudder, gritting your teeth as the injury reverses itself. It’s never been the most pleasant thing, but it works, and it’s fast, fast enough that it’s only seconds before you’re back in the fight.

Thankfully, it seems your callout didn’t go unheeded. The rest of your team peeks over cover, alternating their fire towards that damn turret, bringing a sigh of relief to your lips. If any stray shots graze them, you’re quick to wave your hand and reverse it in an instant from the safety of your hiding spot. Still, it’s difficult to find a proper opening as the fight heads towards a stalemate.

“We can’t stay like this forever!” you hear your co-healer, Sue Storm, stress from somewhere several feet away. “If they keep us pinned here, it’s only a matter of time before the rest of them collapse on us.”

She’s right. Slowly drilling damage into that turret won’t be effective enough if the rest of your enemies can take advantage and push forward. Your team needs something big, and fast.

Enter Tony Stark. Enter Iron Man.

If you were the pillar holding up your allies, he was the bulldozer tearing through the enemy. He was a force to be reckoned with in that suit. Nearly unstoppable.

“Just keep them off me. I’ve got this.” 

That confident voice fills your heart with hope. The whirring of propulsion jets whizzes past you, whipping your hair into your face as you duck out of the way, but you do your best to follow him with starstruck eyes and a beaming smile.

It wasn't your best-kept secret, your crush on Tony. Adam Warlock nearly outed you once when he described you “having a certain glow” about you whenever you were near the charismatic philanthropist. Poor guy was absolutely blindsided when you nearly jumped on him to get him to shut up.

He zips about, dodging bullet after bullet. Sue keeps him shielded while you focus on healing your allies on the ground, occasionally throwing a few healing rays towards Iron Man that never quite seem to find purchase. Still, they're able to take the pressure off of Tony just long enough--

“MAXIMUM PULSE!”

Even behind the crumbling wall that covers you, the heat and blinding light hit you in an instant. It’s deafening. Sue withdraws her shields to cover your team as the shockwave blasts across the battlefield. Rubble clatters across the translucent barrier over your heads. Once the dust settles, everything falls silent save for the sounds of exasperated breaths and the telltale rumble of propulsion jets, but even that is muffled by the lingering ringing in your ears.

Finally, you venture a peek. The area is absolutely decimated thanks to Stark's weaponry. Punisher's turret is nothing but scraps, you think you see the remnants of a few of Hawkeye's experimental arrows, and a few pieces of one of Rocket’s beacons lie scattered about. The enemy team themselves are nowhere to be seen. Thankfully, the exact opposite is true of your team, and a quick once-over on the ground confirms that everyone is alive and accounted for.

Your smile only widens as relief washes over you.

“He did it!” you exclaim, allowing yourself a pump of your fist into the air. It’s as if a weight has been lifted from your chest, leaving you light as a feather, and you smile so wide that your cheeks start to hurt.

“We did it. I can't take all of the credit here.” Iron Man's voice suddenly behind you nearly has you leaping out of your skin. Damn tinnitus. “Even if I wouldn’t mind the praise of doing it all by myself,” he adds jokingly. 

The rest of your team gather their bearings, groaning a bit as they stand but otherwise hale and whole, and before Sue goes to inspect them for any lingering injuries, she gives you a knowing smirk. “I'll take care of these guys. Why don't you give the star of the show a more… personal touch?”

Your eyes widen and she giggles behind her hand, refusing to elaborate further as she ushers the rest of them away and leaves the two of you alone. You clear your throat awkwardly.

He hovers in his suit in front of you when you turn to face him, heat creeping up your chest and face. The faceplate of his helmet retracts, and you’re greeted with that familiar, handsome mug that regards you warmly.

“Promise I’ll sit still this time,” he quips.

Ah, so your efforts had not gone unnoticed. You’re not sure whether to be touched or embarrassed by that. A nervous hand scratches at the back of your neck.

“Yeah, I…” you pause, tittering shyly as your eyes flicker up to his and then quickly back away. “You’re pretty fast. Hard to keep up with you sometimes.”

That earns you a chuckle, and he slowly lowers down to stand properly on the ground. Now that he’s standing still in front of you, you can see that he didn’t come out of the battle entirely unscathed. It’s nothing serious, thankfully, and there doesn’t seem to be any blood, but you venture a step closer, examining the dents and dings on his armor that could potentially be causing any internal damage underneath.

When he sees the power beginning to glow at your fingertips, he nods at your hands. “Would it be easier if I removed my armor, or--?”

“N-No, this is fine,” you respond quickly, giving him a feeble smile. “I can just reverse the damage, so it’s honestly easier if the site of the injury remains unchanged.”

He huffs out a quick laugh. “Got it. I won’t pretend to understand this magic stuff, and I certainly won’t question your expertise.”

Your smile grows a bit wider at that. “I appreciate it. Fair warning, this might hurt a little.”

Before he gets the chance to properly protest, the energy surges forth, and in that tiny bubble you reverse time as armor shifts back into place and flesh begins to lose its bruising. Tony’s eyes go wide and his lips press into a flat line, desperately trying not to let out anything more than a discontented grunt as he’s forced to relive the pain in reverse for a fleeting second. Such are the drawbacks when it comes to the nature of your powers, but no one can argue the effectiveness of it.

At least it distracts you from the closeness you two share, even if you’re not eager to break it.

“That should be good, but…” Your voice trails off as you admire the shining red metal, examining it for anything you might have missed. There are a few trivial scuffs here and there. Feeling slightly braver, you rest your palm directly against his armor and trace along the scrapes and chips that linger from the suit’s everyday use. “There you go. Good as new.”

You glance up at his face and blink in surprise when you find him watching you intently. Perhaps your eyes fail you, or you’ve been staring at crimson for too long, but you swear his face is ever so slightly flushed. The healing energy fades, and your fingertips rest gingerly against his plated chest.

“Fascinating,” he breathes. “Does that work on wrinkles, too?”

A snort leaves your nostrils. Shaking your head, you reply, “Probably not. At least, I’ve never tried, but my power works in real time. I’d have to be at it for days, weeks, months, even.”

“An excuse to spend more time with you? Perish the thought,” he jests, leaving you to part your lips softly agape in shock. You never realized that he enjoyed his time with you as well. 

“Oh, and…” he adds, tapping a finger to his smirking lips, “You missed a spot.”

The bar was dimly lit, the kind of place where people went to disappear — to lose themselves for a few hours in the haze of alcohol and conversation. Low music hummed in the background, the chatter of patrons blending into a steady white noise. It wasn’t the kind of place you’d normally find yourself, but after the mission — after the exhaustion and tension that had built up over the last few days — it was the only place that made sense.

You weren’t looking for company. You weren’t even looking for a drink, not really. Just a place to sit, to let the weight of the last few days slip off your shoulders. The mission had been brutal, leaving everyone on edge. The team had pushed themselves to the limit. You’d all come out the other side in one piece, but the weight of it still clung to you like smoke.

When someone suggested hitting the bar, you hesitated. You were tired, ready to crash. But then your eyes had caught sight of him — Remy LeBeau.

He sat at the bar, drink in hand, shuffling a deck of cards with that easy, practiced grace of his. His dark hair was tousled, falling just into his eyes, and there was a grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he spoke to the bartender. Even from across the room, you could see the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt, the way his eyes sparkled, catching the light just right.

He didn’t seem weighed down by the mission the way everyone else did. Instead, he looked like he thrived on it — on the danger, the adrenaline. There was something magnetic about him. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, all lazy confidence and devil-may-care attitude, or maybe it was that damn Cajun accent that turned every word into something smooth and sultry.

You hadn’t realized you were staring until he glanced your way, and your heart skipped a beat. He caught you in his gaze, those red-on-black eyes glinting like embers, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to hum. His lips curled into that signature smirk, and he tipped his head slightly, like he was inviting you to come closer.

You quickly looked away, heat rising to your cheeks. But it was too late. You knew Remy well enough to know that he didn’t miss a thing.

You sat at a table in the corner, trying to focus on your drink and the conversation happening around you, but your eyes kept drifting back to the bar — to him. He was still there, leaning casually with his back to the counter, one arm draped over the edge, the other holding that ever-present deck of cards.

He was watching you now. You could feel his gaze on you even though you pretended not to notice. Your pulse quickened, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. There was always something electric about Remy, something that made your skin tingle whenever he was close. But tonight, it felt different. More intense. More dangerous.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftermath of the mission — the adrenaline and exhaustion still buzzing in your veins — or if it was just him, but you felt the pull, undeniable and strong.

It wasn’t long before you felt him approach. You didn’t need to look up to know it was him. The scent of cigarette smoke and leather gave him away, along with that familiar, lazy stride of his. He had a way of walking that made it seem like he had all the time in the world and couldn’t be bothered to rush for anything.

“Mmm, y’look tense, chère,” Remy’s voice drawled, smooth and low, as he slid into the seat beside you. His accent was thick tonight, each word curling like molasses. “S’pose y’don’t mind if I join ya?”

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow, trying to ignore the way your heart jumped at the sound of his voice. “Since when do you ask permission?” you shot back, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm, his eyes flashing with amusement. “Touché.” He leaned back, draping one arm lazily over the back of the booth, his fingers dangerously close to brushing your shoulder. “But I figure after a day like today, a lil’ civility might not hurt, non?”

You smirked, taking a sip of your drink. “Civility isn’t exactly your strong suit, Gambit.”

He tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Non, chère, but I got other strengths.” His voice dropped just a little, the teasing edge still there, but there was something else too — something darker, deeper.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. His eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the rest of the bar seemed to fade away. It was just you and him, sitting too close in this dimly lit corner. The tension between you crackled like static, every brush of his fingers against your skin sending a jolt through you.

“Buy ya a drink?” he asked casually, though his gaze was anything but.

You raised your glass, smirking. “Already got one.”

His grin widened as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Then how ‘bout I just keep ya company, hm?”

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his proximity making it hard to think straight. The bar was crowded, the noise of the crowd buzzing around you, but all you could focus on was the man beside you. His scent — leather, spice, and a hint of smoke — filled your senses, making your heart race faster.

“And what exactly do you get out of this?” you asked, your tone light, though you weren’t sure it came out as casual as you intended.

Remy’s eyes glinted, his smirk never faltering. “Ain’t it obvious, chère? I like your company. Makes the night a lot more interestin’.” His fingers brushed against your shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine. “Y’got a way ‘bout ya… somethin’ I can’t quite figure out.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “You’re trouble, Remy.”

He shrugged, not denying it. “Maybe I am. But y’like trouble, don’t ya?”

The conversation flowed easily after that, the two of you slipping into a comfortable rhythm of banter and playful teasing. Every word, every glance, was laced with double meanings, and the tension between you simmered just beneath the surface. You could feel his gaze on you, lingering a little too long, and every time his hand brushed against yours, it felt like a spark.

At some point, you lost track of how many drinks you’d had. The room felt warmer now, the edges of everything blurring slightly. Remy hadn’t moved from his spot beside you, his arm still resting on the back of your chair, his body impossibly close to yours. The air between you was thick with anticipation, the unspoken tension growing with each passing moment.

“Y’know,” Remy said, his voice dropping lower, more intimate, “I been thinkin’ ‘bout ya.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the shift in his tone. The playful banter was gone now, replaced by something heavier. You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm,” he murmured, his eyes dark and unreadable as they locked onto yours. “Every time I see ya, chère, I wonder how long we gon’ keep dancin’ ‘round this.”

The air left your lungs in a rush. His words hung between you like a challenge, and you felt your pulse quicken, your skin tingling with the weight of what he was saying. You had always felt something for Remy — that much was undeniable. But this? This was different.

“And what exactly are we dancing around, Remy?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he spoke, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “This.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if he was giving you the chance to pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. The pull between you was too strong, too undeniable. Your hands found their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. There was nothing soft about it now. It was all heat, all fire, and the world around you disappeared, leaving just the two of you, tangled in each other.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Remy’s eyes were blazing, his lips curled into a satisfied grin. “Been wantin’ to do that for a long time, chère,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

You smiled, your heart pounding in your chest. “What took you so long?”

He chuckled, his hand sliding to rest on your hip. “Guess I’m a patient man. But now… I think I’m done waitin’.”

The night blurred after that. Neither of you made it back to the barstools. Instead, you stumbled out into the cool night air, his arm around your waist, your hand gripping the front of his jacket as you pulled him toward the nearest hotel. The tension between you had reached a fever pitch, every touch, every kiss fanning the flames higher.

By the time you made it to his room, there was no going back. The door barely closed behind you before you were on each other again, your hands greedy, your lips hungry. Everything about him felt intoxicating, overwhelming, and you were more than happy to let yourself drown in it.

And now, in the quiet of the morning, the memory of it all lingers like smoke, thick and heavy in the air around you. His arm is slung lazily over your waist, his chest pressed against your back, and you can still feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, the ghost of his touch on your skin.

You’re groggy, both of you are. The world feels soft around the edges, like you’re still caught in the remnants of a dream. The sheets are warm and tangled around your legs, but it’s not the fabric that’s keeping you cocooned in comfort — it’s him. Remy’s arm is draped over your waist, his body pressed against yours, radiating heat like a furnace. His breath is slow and heavy, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back.

You shift slightly, the movement causing his fingers to flex against your skin. He makes a low sound in his throat, something between a groan and a hum, the noise vibrating against you as he tightens his arm around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. His face buries into the curve of your neck, and you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, one that wakes you up just a little more, but not enough to shake the haze of comfort that still envelops you.

“Mornin’, cher,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, his accent heavy and smooth, rolling over you like velvet.

A soft smile tugs at your lips, your eyes still closed as you savor the feel of him beside you. You could get used to this — waking up to his warmth, to his voice so low and intimate in the quiet morning light. You shift again, just enough to glance over your shoulder at him. His eyes are still closed, his hair tousled and falling into his face, and the sight makes your heart squeeze in a way that’s both unfamiliar and comforting.

“You awake?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile peace of the moment.

His lips brush against the skin of your neck as he chuckles, the sound low and lazy. “Mm… not quite awake enough t’be responsible for my actions,” he murmurs, his words slurred slightly by sleep, but you can hear the mischievous edge in his tone. You feel the curve of his grin against your neck, and the warmth of it makes your heart beat a little faster.

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head even as your pulse quickens. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re ever responsible for your actions, Remy.”

His hand moves on your waist, his fingers sliding slowly, lazily, over your skin as he shifts behind you. The tension between you shifts too, subtle at first, but unmistakable. His hand trails down to the small of your back, his fingers splayed wide, warm against your bare skin. You can feel the weight of his touch, the meaning behind it, and before you know it, he’s pulling you closer, his body pressing more firmly against yours, his lips brushing along the curve of your jaw.

“Maybe,” he whispers, his voice soft and teasing, “but I think you like me that way, non?”

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. There’s something about the way he says it, the way he makes it sound like a secret meant just for you. And maybe it is. Maybe that’s what this whole thing is — an unspoken understanding between the two of you, something dangerous and thrilling, but also something that feels too good to question.

His lips ghost over your cheek, and you turn your head just enough for them to meet yours. The kiss starts slow, languid, like neither of you are in any rush to break the quiet of the morning. His lips are soft, warm, and he tastes like sleep and something dangerous, something intoxicating. The kiss deepens quickly, though, the heat between you rekindling, and the world outside these sheets fades away as you lose yourself in him.

There’s something about kissing Remy that always feels like a risk — like stepping to the edge of something unknown, something thrilling and dangerous. It’s not just the way he kisses, though that alone is enough to make your heart race. It’s the fire in him, the heat simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to flare up. And when his lips move against yours, when his hand slides lower, fingers brushing over your hip, it feels like that fire is threatening to consume you both.

Your breath catches in your throat as his hand roams lower, his fingers dipping beneath the sheets, the touch of his skin against yours sending a surge of heat straight to your core. His lips press harder against yours, the kiss growing more urgent, more desperate, as if he’s trying to memorize the taste of you, the feel of you, before the morning slips away and reality sneaks back in.

A small gasp escapes your lips when his fingers find their way between your folds, his touch light, sensual — a stark contrast to the intensity of last night. Every brush of his fingers sends sparks shooting through you, your body already responding to him, already aching for more. His thumb slides over your most sensitive spot, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, and your hips buck forward instinctively, chasing the friction.

His mouth captures the moan that leaves you, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that matches the growing urgency in your own body. He pulls back just slightly, just enough to whisper against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. “Mmm… I think you’re already warmed up for me, cher,” he breathes, his voice low and rough, that familiar Cajun accent thick with desire.

You meet his gaze, your breath coming in short, uneven bursts. There’s a heat in his eyes, something wild and untamed, but there’s also something else — something raw, almost tender. He’s watching you closely, as if every reaction, every gasp, every shiver of your body beneath him is something he wants to memorize, to keep for himself.

But you don’t want to talk. Not now. Not when the tension between you is about to snap, not when his fingers are teasing you, coaxing you closer to the edge. You pull him back down into another kiss, your hand tangling in his hair as you press your body tighter against his. His lips crash against yours, and this time, there’s no hesitation, no holding back. The kiss is hungry, desperate, the kind of kiss that says all the things words can’t.

As your lips move together, his fingers slide inside you, slowly at first, as if giving you time to adjust. One finger, then another, filling you with a deliberate slowness that makes your whole body tremble. He curls his fingers inside you, hitting that spot that makes your breath catch and your back arch off the bed.

“Remy,” you breathe, his name slipping from your lips in a soft gasp, and the sound of it seems to spur him on. His fingers move with a slow, torturous rhythm, drawing out every sensation, every wave of pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him, your body begging for more.

“Shhh, cher,” he whispers into your ear, his voice rough and full of heat. “We got all the time in the world… no need t’rush.”

His lips trail down your jaw, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, and you can feel the way his breath hitches, matching the quickening pace of his fingers inside you. Each kiss, each roll of his hips against yours, sends a fresh jolt of pleasure through your body, and you can’t help the way your hips start to move in time with him, chasing that building pressure, that delicious friction.

Every movement, every touch feels deliberate, like he’s savoring every moment, like he’s trying to draw this out as long as possible. His thumb brushes over your clit again, the pressure just enough to make you gasp, your whole body trembling under his touch.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moan that’s building in your throat, but Remy catches the sound and grins against your skin, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Don’t hold back on me, chère,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “Let me hear you.”

His fingers thrust deeper, curling inside you with that perfect pressure, and you can’t stop the moan that escapes your lips this time. It’s raw, desperate, and the sound makes him groan softly into your neck, his own breath coming faster now, more ragged.

“That’s it,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “Gimme more, cher. I wanna feel how much y’want me.”

You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel. His touch, his breath, the way his body presses against yours — it’s all consuming, overwhelming in the best way. Your hands grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you try to ground yourself, try to hold onto something solid as the pleasure builds inside you, faster and faster.

He watches you, his eyes dark and intense, taking in every shiver, every gasp, every little sound you make. There’s something possessive in his gaze, something that makes your heart race even faster, that makes your body respond to him in ways you didn’t realize it could. The way he’s looking at you — like you’re the only thing in the world that matters — sends a thrill through you, a heady mix of desire and emotion that leaves you breathless.

His fingers begin to move faster, the rhythm picking up as he presses harder against that spot inside you, and your body responds immediately, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, so close to falling over, and Remy knows it too. He’s watching you closely, his thumb circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure, his fingers thrusting deep and slow, knowing exactly how to push you closer, how to pull you apart with each movement.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your body trembling as the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak. You’re so close, so close you can barely stand it, and when Remy leans in, brushing his lips against your ear, his voice low and rough, it’s all you need to fall over the edge.

“Let go for me, chère,” he whispers, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “I wanna feel you fall apart.”

And with those words, everything inside you shatters. The climax rips through you, raw and powerful, and you cry out his name, your body trembling as waves of pleasure crash over you, one after the other. His fingers keep moving inside you, drawing out every last bit of your release, his thumb still circling your clit as your body pulses around him.

You feel like you’re floating, weightless, as though the world has melted away, leaving just you and him in the soft cocoon of warmth and tangled sheets. Every sensation is a lingering echo of the high that just tore through your body, the pleasure still pulsing faintly in your veins. All that’s left is the feeling of him beside you, grounding you, holding you close as you come down from the intensity of it all. His arm stays wrapped around your waist, his body warm and solid against yours, while his breath is slow and steady, brushing against your skin like a soft caress.

His fingers slip out of you slowly, gently, and he presses a tender kiss to your temple, his lips warm and reassuring. That kiss feels like a promise, a quiet assurance that this moment — this connection — isn’t going anywhere. You sigh softly, content, your body still tingling with the remnants of pleasure.

But then, you feel him shift slightly beside you, his hand coming up between you. You open your eyes just in time to see him bring his fingers — still slick with your release — to his mouth. His eyes lock onto yours, dark and molten, as he slips his fingers past his lips, sucking your pleasure from his skin with a slow, deliberate motion. The sight of it sends a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly, and a small moan escapes your lips before you can stop it.

Remy grins around his fingers, that familiar, cocky smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he watches the way your breath hitches, your chest rising and falling just a little faster. There’s a challenge in his eyes, something playful and dangerous, and it makes your heart race even as your body is still trying to recover.

He pulls his fingers free from his mouth with a soft pop, his grin widening at the way you’re looking at him. “Mmm, chère,” he drawls, his voice thick with that lazy Cajun accent, “y’taste so sweet, I could spend all day enjoyin’ that.” He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he adds in a heated whisper, “An’ trust me, we got plenty more time t’make sure I do.”

Your breath catches again, the meaning behind his words sinking in. You blink, trying to regain some semblance of composure, but the way he’s looking at you — like you’re the only thing in the world that matters — makes it hard to think straight. You can see the hunger in his eyes, the way his gaze drags over your body, and the heat of it sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“There’s no need for us t’be back at the jet for a few more hours,” he murmurs, his lips brushing teasingly against the shell of your ear. “An’ there’s a lot we can do in that amount of time, non?”

You bite your lip, feeling the familiar tug of desire start to flare up again, despite how spent you already are. He’s teasing you, daring you to rise to the challenge, and you can’t resist the way his words make your skin tingle.

“Oh yeah?” you say, your voice coming out a little breathless, but you manage to smirk back at him. “Like what?”

His grin turns wicked, his eyes flashing with mischief and something much darker, much more primal. Before you can react, he moves, quick and fluid, shifting his body on top of yours. His weight is a welcome pressure, the heat of him pressing against you, and you can feel the hard length of his erection pressing into your thigh. The sensation sends a fresh wave of desire coursing through you, your body already responding to him again, even though the last vestiges of your previous high haven’t fully faded.

Remy watches the way your lips part, the way your breath stutters, and his smirk deepens. He presses his hips against yours, letting you feel every inch of him, his hardness pulsing against your slick heat, and you gasp softly, your body arching up to meet him.

“Like this,” he whispers, his voice low and rough, full of promise. “I owe you at least two more, non?”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, your body already aching for him again, and when he slides his hand down your side, fingers trailing over your heated skin, you shudder under his touch. He’s not in any hurry, though. He’s savoring the moment, savoring the way you’re responding to him. His hand moves lower, tracing the curve of your hip, before he grips your thigh, pulling your leg up to wrap around his waist.

The movement presses you even closer together, and you can feel the tip of him nudging against your entrance, the sensation sending a thrill of anticipation through you. You’re already wet again, your body more than ready for him, and you can’t help the way your hips tilt up, inviting him in.

He leans down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s slow and teasing, his breath warm against your skin. “You ready for me, cher?” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice a low rumble, filled with heat.

You nod, breathless, your hands sliding up his back, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer. “Remy…” you whisper, your voice full of need, full of want.

That’s all the encouragement he needs. He shifts his hips, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he pushes into you, filling you inch by inch. The stretch of him is perfect, the way he moves inside you slow and controlled, giving you time to feel every inch of him as he slides deeper.

You gasp, your body arching up into him, the sensation overwhelming in the best way. The gasp quickly turns into a moan, the sound slipping from your lips before you can stop it, and Remy chuckles softly against your neck, his breath hot and teasing.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice thick and rough. “I wanna hear more of that, chère.”

He pulls back just slightly, then thrusts forward again, his rhythm slow and steady at first, each movement deliberate, drawing out the pleasure. But it’s already too much, the sensation of him filling you, the way his body presses against yours, the heat of him surrounding you. Each thrust sends a fresh wave of pleasure surging through you, and you can’t help the way your body responds, your hips lifting to meet him, chasing that delicious friction.

Remy’s hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he starts to move faster, his thrusts growing more urgent, more desperate. The room is filled with the sound of your ragged breathing, your moans mingling with his low groans, and you can feel the tension building inside you again, coiling tighter and tighter with each movement, until you’re teetering on the edge.

He watches you, his eyes dark and intense, taking in every movement, every sound you make, and the sight of him above you — his dark hair falling into his eyes, his lips parted, his body moving against yours with a raw, unrestrained passion — sends a fresh surge of arousal through you.

“You feel so good, cher,” he groans, his voice rough and breathless. “So damn good.”

His words push you even closer to the edge, and you can feel the pressure building inside you, threatening to spill over. Your hands grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you try to hold on, but it’s too much, the pleasure too intense, too overwhelming.

Remy’s rhythm falters for a moment, his hips stuttering as he pushes deeper, and you can feel him throbbing inside you, his own release just as close as yours. His lips find yours again in a desperate, heated kiss, and the sensation of his mouth on yours, coupled with the feel of him pulsing inside you, is enough to send you over the edge.

Your body tightens around him, the climax ripping through you, raw and powerful, and you cry out his name, your body trembling beneath him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. Remy follows you over the edge a moment later, his own release spilling into you as he groans your name, his body shuddering as he thrusts into you one last time.

For a few moments, the world seems to stand still, the only sound in the room the ragged sound of your breathing, the feel of his body still pressed against yours. You’re both spent, your bodies slick with sweat, but there’s a sense of contentment, of satisfaction, that lingers in the quiet aftermath.

He stays inside you for a moment longer, his breath hot against your neck as he presses a soft kiss to your skin. Then, with a sigh, he pulls back slowly, his body collapsing next to yours as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close.

“That’s two,” he murmurs, his voice teasing, though there’s a hint of exhaustion in it. He presses another kiss to your temple, his lips curling into a lazy, satisfied grin. “Still owe you another, chère.”

The room is still warm, the air thick with the afterglow of everything you've shared. Your body is spent, but the heat between you and Remy hasn’t dimmed entirely. He’s lying next to you, his arm draped lazily over your waist, his fingers tracing light, absentminded patterns on your skin. The sheets are tangled around your legs, but neither of you seem to care — the world outside these sheets feels miles away, and for a few precious moments, it’s just the two of you.

His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, his breath warm against your hair, and you can feel the faint thrum of his heartbeat as you rest against him. You’re both silent, basking in the quiet aftermath, but eventually, Remy shifts beside you, his hand moving to brush a strand of hair from your face.

His lips curve into a soft smirk as he leans in, pressing a languid kiss to your forehead. “As much as I’d love t’stay like this, mon amour, I think we might need a shower,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, the familiar cadence of his Cajun accent wrapping around you like a warm blanket.

You bite your lip, your mind already racing with possibilities. The idea of a shower sounds tempting, but not for the reason he’s suggesting. The thought of the steam, the water cascading down your bodies, and the closeness of him under the hot spray sends a fresh wave of heat rolling through you.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, catching the glint of mischief in his eyes. “You know…” you start, your voice quiet but full of suggestion, “…we could save some water if you join me.”

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face, his eyebrows lifting slightly in amusement as your words sink in. He watches you closely, his eyes darkening with interest, and you can tell by the way he’s looking at you that he’s already picturing exactly what you’re offering. His hand slides down your side, his fingers brushing lightly over your hip as he pulls you closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

“Now that’s an offer I can’t refuse, chère,” he drawls, his lips finding yours in a brief, teasing kiss. “I do like t’be environmentally responsible, after all.”

You laugh softly, rolling your eyes at his playful tone, but the way his hand tightens on your waist, the way his eyes are smoldering with renewed heat, tells you that he's anything but playful right now. There’s a hunger in him that never seems to fade, a fire that flares up again the moment you challenge it, and you can feel it now, simmering just beneath the surface.

Without another word, he shifts out of the bed, pulling you up with him, his hands lingering on your hips as he guides you toward the bathroom. The sheets fall away, and the cool air rushes over your skin, making you shiver, but the heat in his gaze is enough to keep you warm.

The bathroom is small, intimate, and as you step inside, the promise of what’s to come sends another thrill through you. Remy moves behind you, his body pressing lightly against yours as he reaches past you to turn on the shower. The sound of water hitting tile fills the room, and soon enough, steam begins to rise, curling around your bodies like a soft, invisible embrace.

You place your hands on the sink, watching him in the mirror as he straightens, his eyes locked on yours. His lips quirk into a smirk, and you can feel his gaze trailing down your body, as if he’s admiring the way the steam clings to your skin. Without breaking eye contact, you bite your lip again, turning to face him, your heart racing in anticipation.

“C’mere, chère,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he steps forward, pulling you into his arms. His hands slide down your sides, his fingers pressing into your hips as he guides you backward, toward the shower.

The moment your back hits the warm spray of water, a soft sigh escapes your lips, but any sense of calm quickly evaporates when Remy steps in behind you, his hands immediately finding your waist again. The heat of the water cascades over both of you, the steam wrapping around your bodies, but it’s his touch — the way his hands roam over your slick skin — that really sets your pulse racing.

“Looks like I’m gonna owe you again after this,” he teases, his lips brushing against your ear as he presses you against the cool tile, his body flush against yours. His breath is hot on your neck, and the contrast between the warmth of the water and the heat of his mouth sends a shiver down your spine.

You laugh softly, your heart pounding in your chest as you turn your head slightly, your lips brushing against his. “Maybe I’ll let you off easy this time,” you murmur, your voice a little breathless as you slide your hands up his wet chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath your fingers.

He chuckles, the sound low and rough, and his lips find yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. The kiss is hungry, heated, and you can feel the way his body responds to yours, the hard length of him pressing against your thigh as the water flows over both of you.

His hands roam freely over your slick skin, sliding up and down with a kind of deliberate sensuality that sets every nerve alight. His touch is electric, igniting a fire under your skin that the cascade of water can’t possibly dampen. The heat of the shower, the rhythm of the droplets falling between your bodies, only seems to intensify the connection. His fingers trace the curves of your body, leaving a trail of molten need in their wake, and when he pulls you closer, pressing his body flush against yours, you can feel his desire, hard and insistent, pressing into your thigh.

The kiss between you deepens, becoming a desperate clash of lips and tongues as the intensity builds. His tongue slides against yours, teasing, tasting, and the heat of it makes your knees weak. You can’t stop the soft moan that escapes you as you grip his shoulders for support, clinging to him as the fire between you roars to life once more. The water continues to pour down over you both, warm and steady, but it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating from his body and the sheer need coursing through your veins.

Before you can even process it, Remy shifts, bending slightly to wrap his strong hands beneath your knees. In one fluid motion, he lifts you as if you weigh nothing, pressing you up against the cool tile of the shower wall. The sensation of the cold surface against your back contrasts sharply with the heat of his body pressed against yours, and the combination sends a shiver of excitement down your spine.

His lips crash back into yours, hungry and urgent, as he holds you pinned against the wall. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, pulling him even closer, and you can feel the hard, pulsing heat of him pressed against your core, the pressure of it making you ache for more. The kiss is messy, desperate, all teeth and tongues as the need between you becomes almost overwhelming.

The water streams down over both of you, but neither of you pay it any mind. Remy’s grip tightens on your thighs, his hands squeezing your flesh as he shifts his attention lower. His mouth leaves yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, until he reaches your breasts. His lips find your nipple, and without hesitation, he sucks it into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak.

You gasp, a loud, uninhibited moan escaping your lips as his mouth works over your nipple, teasing and pulling, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging gently, and he groans against your skin, the sound vibrating through your body and making your head spin.

But it’s not enough. You need more. You need him closer, harder.

His mouth moves to the other nipple, his teeth grazing it lightly before sucking it into his mouth, and the sensation has you arching against him, your hips grinding down against his. The friction between your bodies is maddening, the heat of him pressing against your core, and you can feel the wetness pooling between your thighs, mingling with the water still cascading down over both of you.

In a moment of desperate need, you tug his hair a little harder, your fingers tightening in the wet strands as you try to pull him even closer. His mouth leaves your skin just for a moment, his breath coming in rough, uneven bursts as he looks up at you with hooded eyes, dark with hunger.

“Harder,” he growls, his voice rough and dripping with need.

A grin spreads across your face, the challenge in his voice sending a thrill of excitement through you. You don’t hesitate. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling harder, and a deep, guttural moan tears from his throat. His eyes flutter closed as the sound escapes him, and the way he responds — the way he groans so loudly at your touch — sends a fresh surge of heat straight to your core.

The reaction is immediate. His mouth returns to your chest, his lips attacking your nipples with renewed fervor. His tongue flicks over the sensitive peaks, his teeth grazing them lightly before sucking them back into his mouth, harder this time, more demanding, more desperate. It’s as if your touch has unlocked something primal in him, and the way he’s devouring you now feels like he’s trying to brand you with his mouth, to make you remember every second of this.

Your head falls back against the tile, the coolness of the wall doing nothing to quell the fire burning through you. The combination of his mouth on your breasts and the way his hips press against yours, the hard length of him grinding against your wet heat, is almost too much. You can’t stop the moans that fall from your lips, each one louder than the last as he continues to suck and pull on your nipples, alternating between them with a kind of desperate precision.

Your hips start to move of their own accord, grinding against him as you chase that delicious friction, the need building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each movement. You can feel him growing harder against you, the pressure of him pressing into your core driving you wild with need. Every time his tongue flicks over your nipple, every time his teeth graze your skin, a fresh wave of pleasure surges through you, and you can tell by the way he’s moaning that he’s just as lost in it as you are.

“Remy,” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper as you tug his hair again, pulling his face back up to yours. His lips are swollen, his eyes dark and wild, and the sight of him — the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, the way he’s looking at you like he’s about to devour you — makes your heart pound in your chest.

You pull him into another kiss, this one slower but no less intense, your lips moving against his with a kind of lazy desperation. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you in place as he grinds against you, the pressure of his erection rubbing against your aching core in a way that makes you gasp into his mouth.

Without breaking the kiss, he shifts his hips slightly, the tip of him brushing against your entrance, and the sensation sends a jolt of electricity through you. Your body tenses in anticipation, your breath catching in your throat as you feel him poised there, so close and yet not close enough.

He pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he breathes heavily, his hands still gripping your hips. “Y’ready for me, chère?” he whispers, his voice rough, full of raw need.

Your heart races, your body trembling with anticipation as you nod, your lips brushing against his. “Remy… please.”

That’s all he needs to hear. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he pushes inside you, filling you inch by inch. The sensation is overwhelming, the stretch of him perfect as he slides deeper, and you can’t stop the loud moan that escapes you as he bottoms out, your body arching against him.

His groan reverberates through the small, steamy space, a deep, primal sound that seems to echo off the tile walls, blending with the steady rush of the shower. His hands grip your thighs tightly, his fingers digging into your soft skin as he presses you harder against the cool shower wall, holding you there with the sheer strength of his body. The contrast of the cold tile at your back and the burning heat of his body against yours sends a shiver through you, making you feel like you’re on the verge of unraveling completely.

For a brief, suspended moment, neither of you move. The world narrows down to this — your bodies locked together, your shared breath mingling in the humid air, the water cascading down over both of you like a curtain. The only sounds that fill the small space are the steady patter of water and the ragged, uneven rhythm of your breathing. It feels as if the world outside has melted away, leaving only the two of you, bound together in this moment of pure, unfiltered connection.

Then, slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulls back, the feeling of him sliding out of you leaving you gasping for breath, your body crying out for him. And then, with a deliberate thrust, he pushes forward again, harder this time, sinking deeper into you. The sudden, intense sensation sends shockwaves of pleasure crashing through your body, and you can’t stop the moan that escapes your lips as your head falls back against the wall.

Your hands tighten in his hair, your fingers curling into the wet strands as if you need to anchor yourself to something—anything—in order to keep from being swept away by the force of it all. Your nails scrape lightly against his scalp, and the sound he makes in response—half groan, half growl—sends a fresh jolt of desire straight to your core. He sets a rhythm then, each thrust harder, deeper, more deliberate, and the pleasure builds inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each movement.

You can hear his breathing in your ear, ragged and heavy, his chest rising and falling against yours as he moves inside you. His breath is hot, sending shivers down your neck, and then there are the words—soft, desperate whispers, like a litany, like a prayer. He’s murmuring in French, the words low and rough, his voice thick with desire. You don’t understand all of it, but the way he says your name, the way it falls from his lips like a sacred vow between the words, makes your heart race even faster. Every soft, breathless phrase pushes you closer to the edge, your body responding to his voice as much as to his touch.

His grip on your thighs tightens, his fingers digging in a little harder, and you can feel the barely-contained strength in him, the way he’s holding himself back, trying to make this last just a little longer. But you can also feel the urgency in his movements, the growing desperation in the way his hips move against yours, pushing you both toward that inevitable breaking point.

You’re so close now, you can feel it — the pleasure building inside you like a wave, rising higher and higher, threatening to crash over you at any moment. Your body tightens around him, your inner muscles clenching involuntarily with each thrust, and he groans again, the sound low and guttural, like he’s barely holding on. He knows you’re close, too. He can feel it in the way your body responds to him, the way your breath hitches, the way your moans get louder, more desperate, more raw.

His eyes flicker up to meet yours for a brief moment, and the intensity in his gaze nearly undoes you. There’s something primal there, something raw and possessive, but there’s also something soft, something unspoken that makes your heart ache in the best way. He’s watching you closely, his eyes locked on your face as if he’s memorizing every detail, every expression, and it’s then that you realize he’s not just taking you to the edge—he’s guiding you there, deliberately, carefully, like he wants to see you fall apart in his arms, like he’s savoring every second of it.

“Tu es si belle,” he whispers, his voice rough and breathless, the words barely audible over the sound of the water. “Mon amour... laisse-toi aller… let go for me.”

The words, the way they roll off his tongue like a plea, like a promise, push you even closer to the edge. You can feel the tension in your body building, every nerve alight with the unbearable pleasure he’s drawing out of you with each thrust. Your face flushes with heat, your breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps as you cling to him, your hands gripping his shoulders, his hair — anything to keep yourself tethered to this moment.

But it’s too much. The way his body moves against yours, the way his voice sends shivers down your spine, the way his hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he thrusts deeper and deeper — it’s all too much. You’re teetering on the edge, barely holding on, and you know he can feel it. He knows your body better than anyone, and he can sense every shift, every tremble, every gasp. He can feel the way your muscles tighten around him, the way you arch toward him, desperate for release.

He groans again, his breath hot against your ear. “I can feel you, chère,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, full of barely-contained need. “You’re so close, I can feel it... y’holdin’ on t’me like I’m the only thing keepin’ you from fallin’.”

And he’s right. In this moment, he is the only thing keeping you grounded, the only thing holding you steady as the pleasure builds inside you, threatening to break you apart. Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you pull him closer, needing him, wanting him, more than you’ve ever wanted anything.

His thrusts grow faster, more erratic, as he feels your body start to tremble in his arms. He’s close, too—you can feel it in the way his breath hitches, the way his muscles tense beneath your fingers, the way his grip on your thighs tightens, as though he’s afraid to let you go.

“Remy…” you gasp, his name falling from your lips in a desperate, breathless moan as the tension inside you snaps, the wave of pleasure finally crashing over you with a force that leaves you breathless. Your body clenches around him, your muscles tightening as the orgasm rips through you, raw and powerful, and you cry out his name again, your voice mixing with the sound of the water as you come undone in his arms.

He groans, his grip on your thighs tightening as he thrusts into you one last time, his own release following close behind yours. His body tenses, his breath catching in his throat as he spills into you with a deep, guttural moan, his hands pulling you even closer as though he never wants to let you go.

For a long moment, neither of you move. You’re both panting, your bodies trembling as you ride out the last waves of pleasure, the water still pouring down over you in a steady, soothing rhythm. Your forehead rests against his, your breath mingling with his as you both try to come back down from the high.

When he finally pulls back, just enough to look at you, his eyes are soft, warm, full of a tenderness that makes your heart ache. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his fingers brushing lightly over your flushed skin as he holds you close.

“Tu es incroyable,” he murmurs, his voice soft and full of wonder. “I love watchin’ you fall apart like that, cher. You’re somethin’ else.”

Sunlight shone through the window, rousing you from slumber. It was morning already, huh . That was the best you’ve rested in, well, you couldn’t remember. You don’t remember waking up once after speaking to the angel. Perhaps he casted a spell on you so as to not wake until dawn. No, that’d be silly use of his talents. You weren’t sure what to do next. Slowly you rose from the bed, and decided to trek through the large castle. You were sure he’d be asleep, knowing at the very least his vampiric senses wouldn’t let him in the sunlight (well...) and tried to make it back to the study. You wish you had looked up when following him. But now that you were alone, and very much lost , you took the time to look at your surroundings. 

Beautiful, large portraits of different faces hung around the walls. A man with dark, long hair. Pale, and dark, stoic eyes. Must be Dracula... you thought to yourself. You wondered why the blonde had kept them up. Eyes continued to wander, seeing more portraits of either Dracula or people that looked very similar to him. Family, maybe. Odd thinking of vampires with families . And then you saw one of the most ethereal woman you’d ever laid eyes on. Soft, blonde hair, with fair skin and gorgeous eyes. If you thought about it long enough, you’d realize that she very much resembled the vampire that took you in. 

But you didn’t think much of it.

You pressed on, forgetting your initial quest of finding the study and instead started taking in the artwork on the walls, wandering aimlessly throughout the halls. Although the castle was a mere shadow of its past grandeur, it was still as remarkable as ever. For you, anything bigger than a barn was remarkable. But this? This was a work of art on its own. 

Eventually, by mere miracle , you found yourself in front of a library. You don’t believe it to be the study from last night, but it was a room filled to the brim with books nonetheless. A small smile graced your lips, and you started shuffling towards the shelves. Endless books on different topics--medicine, herbs, history, the human body-- everything . You weren’t sure where to start. This was the first time you’d even seen a book since you taught yourself to read and write when that man fell asleep drunk each night. It was miraculous that he never found your journal and book clearly meant for children. He never really looked hard though, too busy wanting other things from you. You scowled.

Pushing the awful thoughts as far back as you could, you moved further into the library. The shelves were taller than you, so you had to crane your neck to see what else lay on the shelves. You felt a light within you spark. You’d never felt so...grateful, to be alive. To be given the opportunity to even look at these books. Tears filled your waterline, and you blinked them away as best you could, some falling still. 

A book piqued your interest, it looked like it was about magic. I can learn magic! A small laugh escaped you, more breath than real laughter. You pushed up, reached as high as you could, grabbing the massive book from its place and sat right there on the ground. This level of reading was much higher than you were used to, so it would take time, but you would try anyways. You flipped the first page, a  bit overwhelmed already with how much was on the page but you didn’t care. You finally had knowledge about yourself at your fingertips.

--

Alucard searched almost frantically trying to find you. He knew he shouldn’t have trusted you, he knew he should have kept you on a chain within the room so you couldn’t escape. And now you were somewhere in this damned castle, probably plotting his demise. You could sense your lies in his bones now, how could I have been so blind! You were faking not knowing about magic. You were going to betray him just as the twins did, you were going to try to kill him, you were--

You were in the library . He heard a small chuckle, so soft that if it weren’t for his Dhampir senses it would have skirted on by in the wind. He made his way to the door as quickly as he could and flung the door open with such aggression it made you drop the book from your hands. Eyes wild and filled with rage, Alucard stormed over and grabbed your arm, uncaring that it was wounded and that you yelled, and hoisted you up. “ What are you doing here? ” He spat.

All panic came tumbling back, all the fear that you rightfully had prior, eyes widening at his actions. You couldn’t breathe, trying to inhale anything into your lungs that felt like they were filled with stone.

“I just--I wanted to--I--”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

Tears flowed freely now, you looked like a deer caught within the jaws of a predator.

“I just wanted to read.”

It escaped you like a sob.

He let go of you, and took a step back.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to read, honest!”

He looked down at the book you had chosen, lying face down now. 

It was a beginner book for magic.

Alucard sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. God , he felt embarrassed now for his outlash.

“I’m...” He groaned. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” you wept, and continued. “No, I won’t do it again, I won’t do it anymore, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” Hands gripped onto the length of your skirt for dear life, trembling like a leaf. Your continued ramblings of I’m sorry, please don’t beat me, I won’t do it again, I promise broke Alucard bit by bit the more he looked at you. 

You were harmless . 

“Hey, listen, you didn’t do anything-” he reached out to try and console you, and the moment his hand reached your shoulder a thick sob bubbled out of your chest and you flinched away, protecting yourself with your hands. 

Shit . 

Alucard retracted his hand, and slowly moved them up in a defenseless position. Slowly he crouched, and picked up the book you started reading, closing it up and placing it on the table a few feet away. 

“Please, please calm down. I’m sorry, it was wrong of me to accuse you.” He talked as loud as he could over your sobs without yelling in fear of scaring you again. He just wanted you to listen . It took some coaxing, and after a bit more quiet sobs you had calmed down just enough to look at him with bleary eyes. Red, puffy, and burning. Your hands slowly went down to your chest, grasping at each other. He needed to be careful approaching you.

“My name is Alucard.” he offered.

You gasped.

“The Alucard? The one who defeated Dracula ?” It was the most emotion outside of fear he had heard from you yet. Filled with curiosity and wonder. 

“Just...Alucard. Please.”

You retracted a bit, bowing your head. “Yes, I’m sorry Alucard, forgive me.”

He shook his head. “There’s no need for the formalities, really. It’s okay.” 

--

After quite some time, the two of you headed down to the kitchen. It was the original reason he went to go find you. Give you some breakfast. Before he completely embarrassed himself. 

“Eat, I’m sure you haven’t had a proper meal in quite some time.” God, he had no idea.

You wanted to eat everything in sight. It might have been a bit cold now since it took some time to get you down here, but you would never complain. Not with the feast in front of you. Just for breakfast! You couldn’t believe it!

And then you remembered any time you wanted to eat freely back at Gresit.

I eat first, and then you eat my scraps you ungrateful bitch. Never forget who the master of this house is. 

The smile was immediately wiped from your face, and you retracted a hand that was reaching for some bread. Hands tucked neatly on your lap, you bit your lip and looked down. Alucard rose a brow.

“Is something wrong?” 

You shook your head, “You eat first. You’re the master of this house.” Robotic tone like an automatic response. 

This is going to take some time, Alucard grimaced inwardly.

“We eat together. I am the master of this house,” you flinched, “and as such, I want you to eat with me. Understood?” He didn’t like using the very clear trauma against you, but he needed to at least get you to ingest something. Whatever you could handle. You stayed still for a moment, and went back to reach for the piece of bread from before. Slowly, you took a bite and you could have cried all over again from how wonderful it felt to finally eat something not gutted from a mangled up animal which was clearly leftovers from a night creature eating. 

“It’s good.” Lips curled up, if only a little, in joy. 

“Good, I’m glad.” He nodded, and went about eating his own fill, glancing over to you every now and then to make sure you were eating. 

You were slow, taking your time, tasting things little by little seeing how your stomach would react. Eating was hard for someone who hadn’t eaten nutritious meals in years. You felt gluttonous, eating until you were full. You ate slowly, hoping you would be full quicker. You didn’t want to eat all of Alucard’s food, it was rude of you. 

“You can eat more, you know. I made this for you.”

Your eyes shot up at him, glassy, threatening to cry. 

“ Really? ” Your voice is small, but grateful. He nodded. You said nothing back, but smiled the closest thing to a real smile he’s seen. From there, you ate graciously, still taking your time and making sure your stomach didn’t hurt, but ate until you were full. Different meats, and cheeses, things you’ve never had before. It filled your heart as much as your stomach. 

--

The rest of the morning passed in silence, you returning to the library (he mostly guided you, so as to not get lost again), and pressed on with reading. This time on a chair. Alucard stayed with you, studying on his own. Your brow furrowed, mouthing out words and mumbling under your breath. 

“Do you...need help?”

You glanced up, embarrassment filling you. A pink warmth dusted over your cheeks, and your eyes looked anywhere else other than his face. “I uhm...I can’t seem to get this word.” You admitted.

Alucard went over to you and read over your shoulder. 

“ An herbology is practical, magic depending on geographical locale. The incantations as depicted in this book will require certain plants, however once mastered can be replaced with surrounding vegetation that grows within your region.” 

Ah, that made more sense now. 

You repeated some words to yourself, tracing over the letters on the page. Geographical, incantations, vegetation . Those are words you understand, and can now read . 

“I’m surprised you know how to read, given your...circumstances.” 

You continued thumbing the words, “I taught myself. As best as I could. Some words are...difficult.” 

Alucard hummed, and went back to his corner of the room, eyes unable to process the words on the pages anymore. 

“Would you like to study more?” You perked up. 

“Would you...would you help me?” you sounded hopeful. He nodded. You grinned.

“I would like that very much, Alucard.”

“You know, you never gave me your name.” He was teasing you, smirk curling his lips. Now you felt terribly embarrassed. You bowed your head again, “I’m so sorry.” And then you gave him your name.

He hummed again, repeating it back at you. You felt your heart in your throat. It was the first time someone had said your name without disgust.