Soooooooo would fuck him even in his unwashed/stinky state. A little more flavor ain’t hurting no one 💕
Nerd boy started talking science to me and my panties dropped. The fumes Soifon smelt was from me and Kisuke doing multiple rounds of nonstop research.
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Another bar, another drink. Another girl in satin, another bed kept warm for him
That was the routine for a man of little commitment such as him.
But surely, he wasn't the villain to the story? He told each and every woman that had resided in his arms, that he never was one to stay. And that was how it always went. There was never a girl before them, nor ever a one coming after that could change his vindictive ways.
That's what he fibbed to himself.
Idle circles his roughened fingertips traced the smooth shoulder of a beautiful woman. He had lost track of how many times he had soothed the qualms of a woman in the same manner, time a fickle thing in his realm.
He cautioned them so many times, so many times he had told them he wouldn't stay long. A touch, an embrace, a long kiss. That was all he could promise.
What a waste of ink to watch it dry out and padder off with wasted ages on certificates ensuring what? Happiness? Quite contrary, he mused.
And yet they all cried as he skipped out of each house. They all cried to their mothers, cried to all their sisters about a man who wretched the very hearts out of their bosoms and carried it in his leather bag. But that grin never faded. That virile, gleeful, grin of a man with no destination, no purpose, no promise of where he'd rest his head once more.
Except, there was one, he supposed.
The same lines, the same voice he had cooed to you. And the same warning that came out as nothing but the sound of unnecessary fine print as he lied you down in that silk bed of his.
What a cruel, cruel man he was. Adorning you with jewels he thought prettily of, as if he cherished you, loved you. As if a man such as he would know of a concept.
"Don't cry when I leave, it'll ruin your complexion,"
"I will go, it won't be a surprise, you have to promise me, to not miss me when I'm gone."
He remembered it so clearly, so vividly as he bolted out in the crackling morning dawn
How your figure stood there, your eyes all soddened with tears, and not even a bother of calling out. For what use would it be, if your voice was to only but crack when you shouted a useless thing as for him to come back to you once more?
A flicker of light, a passing of days, an embrace of another woman.
But how hollow his arms felt now.
Through dark nights he road the train with little thought. And while a man such as he, once all giddy and content with the life he lived, no longer was there. The flashing lights, the passing glitters, was all that refracted off his eyes.
But in his eye, his tired mind, he could see that grin of yours. Those charming lips, those rosy cheeks, they were all so clear in his memories.
And he held that worn down leather bag of his, a gift from one of his conquests. And like a fool he was, like the sinner he was, he dared let the betraying thought wonder, of what it would be like to hold you to him once more?
A fool he was, not for the reason of his incompetence, but rather,
How easily he let you
slip.
She didn't cry of hatred.
Or longing.
Or any kind of determination that he would be back.
She wasn't one for.. The easy, short one night stands. But despite the words this man had promised and negotiated with her, she still fell.
Foolishly.
Over, and over, and over, and over..
That sensation wherein she logically knew and acknowledged she refused, refused to long and yearn for a man who had a new woman in his arms.
A new woman to fill his arms that would soon be empty the next morning.
She had already accepted within herself. That she wouldn't stay with a man that couldn't keep still -- like that wasn't the feature she so dearly admired about him.
So as foolishly as a young child would, as it was her first time in her life to truly fall in love --
She unintentionally whispered the secrets of love to his ear.
She delicately touched him to let him experience the real, true, genuine meanings of love.
She kissed first the parts of him that meant everything in the pure sense. His hand, his forehead, his cheeks, his knuckles when he slept.
He experienced the life of pure, genuine love in that short period of time which he so dearly missed.
So everytime she even thought of him with a new woman of quick, nonsensical, lustful kisses and consensual actions --
It was like her soul begged him back.
As opposed to her mind, which firmly believed that she had fully (partially) let him go.
She refused to believe the thought of him still made her.. Full, in some way that she just --
Couldn't let go.
As the train rumbled on, Joseph's mind drifted back to that fateful night - the night he had met you. It was a night that had started like any other, with the usual drinks, the usual flirting, the usual promises made and broken. But then, you were different. You were special.
He could still remember the way your eyes sparkled as you listened to him, the way your laughter rang out like music to his ears. He could still remember the way your hand felt in his, the way your body melted against his in the dance. And he could still remember the way you looked at him, with a love that was so pure and so real, it scared him.
Joseph had always been a man who lived for the moment, never looking back, never looking forward. He had always believed that love was a weakness, a burden that he could not afford to carry. But with you, everything had changed.
He had felt a connection, a bond that he had never felt before. And as he held you in his arms, he had felt a sense of belonging, a sense of home. And he had known, in that moment, that he never wanted to let you go.
But he had. He had let you go, just like all the others. Just like all the women who had come before you, and all the women who would come after. He had made you a promise, a vow to leave, and he had kept it. But he had never imagined the pain that it would cause him.
Now, as he sat on the train, watching the world go by, he could feel a hollow ache in his chest. It was the ache of a man who had lost something precious, something that he had never truly realized the value of until it was gone.
Joseph had always prided himself on being a man of his word, a man who kept his promises. But as he sat there, he could feel a growing sense of regret, a sense that he had made a terrible mistake.
He had never been one for apologies, never been one for admitting his flaws. But as he sat there, he could feel a whisper of a thought, a whisper that he had never dared to voice before. And that thought was simple: I'm sorry.
As though as she already unintentionally connected to him like she had done before, -- she had experienced the same suffering.
She stumbled across her own home, hesitantly stopping in each room like her body and emotions did whatever first came to mind.
To.. Remember him.
To disobey the very command her pitiful mind had ordered.
To accept him right back, to yearn for him like every other woman he had enamoured. With knowing every possible possibility and its consequences -- to hit her back -
100 times harder.
She stumbled into the living room of her sorrowing house and encountered and was forced to confront.. Many things.
The first place they had experienced with having each other true company.
The very unfortunately precious place where she let him rest his head on her lap for the first time.
The place wherein she had delibrately massaged his scalp and played with his hair.
The place where she had shared his genuine company by knowing many things about each other. About unfortunate situations in their life, about their appreciations and loves, likes, and hatreds.
The place where she found so many unique things about him and what was precious and valuable to his soul.
The kitchen where she had created silly, goofy moments which she ultimately yearned for (which she wished she didn't).
The place wherein she laughed her soul out as they created many, various things with each other.
The place where they ate dinner with each other, sharing the first genuine glances at each other --
Somewhat like falling in love once again with each other.
The place wherein she created his favorites with love.. Genuine, yearning, caring love. Incorporating every single ounce of knowledge about love she had into it.
The place where they fell in love with each other over and over and over again, and not lust. Love.
The bedroom, the most precious of all.
The place.. Where she first learned how soothing a caring heart beat felt.
The place.. Where he had realized he had truly forgotten or didn't know what the sensation of love meant.
The place.. Where they had commitmented their first pure acts of love.
Highlight: Love.
Where they had cuddled and laughed, hugging each other with every ounce of care they held within them that they had never acknowledged before. Where they had shared their first kiss, which really showed how delicately she handled and unraveled this fast paced moving man. The place where she whispered the techniques, meaning, and everything she herself knew of love. And ultimately, where they shared their first consensual act of love, mixed with the just right amout of lust.
And the place...
The place where had half-fallen asleep, and as she rubbed his knuckles, whispered.
“I love you, my dearest.”
Joseph's heart raced as he recalled each moment, every precious second spent with you in the sanctuary of your shared home. The living room echoed with the ghosts of laughter and conversation, the kitchen with the sizzle of meals cooked with love's tender care. And the bedroom... the bedroom was a hallowed space where he had first glimpsed the true meaning of a heart's devotion.
He could still feel the softness of your lap beneath his head, the gentle pressure of your fingers in his hair as you massaged his scalp with such tender care. He could still hear the lilt of your voice as you shared your hopes, your fears, your dreams - a man laid bare in the warm glow of your companionship.
The kitchen had become a stage for your shared joys, a symphony of laughter and clinking glasses, of plates piled high with the fruits of your collaborative labors. With each bite, each sip, he felt the embers of a love he had never dared to crave before.
But it was in the bedroom where Joseph had met his undoing, where the walls had borne witness to a love that dared to defy the very nature of his roaming heart. Your touch, your kiss, your whispered words... they had seeped into his skin, into his bones, until he could no longer deny the truth that stood before him.
As he lay there, half-asleep, the weight of your love had settled upon him like a balm, a salve for the weary soul. And in that moment of vulnerability, he had heard the words that would haunt him, that would echo through the hollow chambers of his heart long after he had left.
I really love your SBR x reader fic and your writing!! I was wondering if I can request a Johnny x oblivious reader!!
Like Johnny could blatantly say that he loves her and she’ll be like ‘Oh thank I love you too buddy :D’ I think it would be so funny to see him be frustrated with reader 😭😭
Have a great day/night!!!
Hello, 🦚 anon!! Welcome to the family!! I hope you like the chaos that's currently going on in this house! Hahaha!!
GOD! I LOVE writing Johnny, and as a VERY dense person myself, I totally enjoyed working on this request!
From the very start of the race, heck, even since before it started, Johnny had set his eyes on you. When was being stubborn with wanting to mount Slow Dancer and caused him to get badly injured in the process, you were the only one that took action, jumping the fence to his rescue while the rest of the people just watched. Even when he was an asshole to you for it, your smile didn’t break and it showed you were doing it out of genuine care and not because of pity as he loved to claim. It surprised him greatly when you joined him and Gyro and partnered up for the rest of the race.
Your sweet smile and helplessness towards others made the walls he had built to protect himself crack a little, polishing away at the stone until it disintegrated under the warmth of your heart. Johnny wasn’t really good at showing emotions, but oh could his face be read as a book. He might not be great with words, but his eyes spoke everything that needed to be said and what he wanted to keep private. You were kind, smart, caring, brave, everything he told himself he wasn’t, and he looked up at you like a role model without noticing. Another thing he didn’t notice was how that ‘quiet admiration’ he had towards you, was not only just admiration. It had started to shift from ‘wanting to be just like you’ into ‘I want to be with you’ subtly every day and Gyro was the only one that noticed.
Why didn’t you notice if you spent most of your time with Johnny and he could be read so easily? Well. It didn’t matter how smart you were in academic terms, how quick on your feet you were during combat or what a great problem solver you were, when it came to noticing this type of stuff, you were dense as a rock. Johnny could be blushing hard, beet red blooming in his cheeks and ears after you had tucked part of his hair behind his ear and you would just, smile. And that was the thing! You did most of the stuff that drove him crazy out of pure care and nothing else. You were just being nice and helpful in your eyes, completely unaware of how you were tormenting poor Johnny’s heart.
Gyro couldn’t help but to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situations that repeated every day, even multiple times. He would bark out a laugh at how soft you were being and how Johnny was trying the hardest for his heart to stay inside his chest and didn’t jump out though his throat, and you would just turn with a confused smile and ask ‘what was wrong?’.
“Johnny, you have to tell her.” Gyro would nudge at him while the two of them rode behind you, who were humming a tune blissfully unaware of their conversation. “And I mean tell her, TELL HER! She’s so dense she won’t take a hint.” Gyro gave the poor man a smug smile in sympathy.
“Ugh…! Don’t remind me!” Johnny let go of the reins to pull the hem of his hat to cover his eyes in frustration. He had tried multiple, and I mean MULTIPLE, times to tell you his feelings and confess his interest in you. The younger version of himself would be ashamed by how shy and awkward you made him be when it came to talking to you. When he gathered enough confidence to tell you, you would turn to him with a smile that would make him become a puddle and stumble with his words. He took a deep sigh looking at you riding in front of him. “I’ll tell her tonight when we set camp…”
And so he prepared himself. The three of you settled for the night taking shelter in between some rocks to avoid the wind. Johnny gathered all the courage in him to ask you out, Gyro and him agreed it would happen when he ‘went to sleep’ so the two of you could have a private chat. And so the time came. Like most nights, you stayed up until later chatting with him after Gyro had gone to bed. He had to admit he looked forward to this time of the day every time just so he could be with you. You chatted away like always, rambling about some nonsense that came to your brain and spiraled into some crazy idea of yours. Eventually, like it was planned, the topic of relationships and love came up, and Johnny took it as a sign sent by God himself.
“Yeah. I have never ever had a boyfriend! I always find out years later after they tell me they had a crush on me and that I didn’t notice for the longest time!” You let out an honest, almost embarrassed, laugh as you scratched the back of your neck. “Guess I’m not good at reading hints!”
“Well, about that…” He took a big gulp before talking and couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eyes. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”
“Oh, sure, Johnny. Go ahead.” You turned yourself slightly to face him, paying full attention to what he was about to tell you with that usual clueless smile of yours.
“I–...” He shook his head to gather himself up. “I wanted to say I really like you, no– I could even say I even love you at this point!” Your eyes opened at his sudden confession and how he was spilling his heart to you. “I love the way you smile and you make me feel so fuzzy inside, I don’t even know myself anymore!” You cut him off before he could continue.
“Aw! I love you too, Johnny! I think that’s really sweet you think of me like that!”
Silence.
Deafening silence.
And then a wolfish laugh came from your right. From Gyro.
He had his back to both of you but he had never gone to sleep, he just kept quiet and eavesdropped on your conversation. Johnny immediately turned red, both from frustration and embarrassment. You, however, couldn’t be more confused.
“Gyro? Why are you laughing?” Your corner of your lip flicked upwards but you had no idea what was happening right now. “What’s so funny? Did you dream of something?”
“No!” He turned, whipping a tear from his eyes. “You just told Johnny you had never had a boyfriend because you don’t know whenever boys like you, and he just confessed his love to you and brushed it off like a fucking compliment! It’s so hilarious!!” Your eyebrows knotted in confusion. Johnny was next to you, hiding himself under this hat, his hair, his sweater; anything he could get his hands on since Earth wasn’t planning on swallowing him whole right now, it seemed.
“What do you mean? It was a compliment, right?” Your eyes searched for Johnny’s, trying to prove Gyro he had gotten it wrong. “Right?” Johnny peeked from under his beanie, face redder than the fire before you.
“No… No, it was not…” His voice came out shy. The look on your face was hysterical. Gyro swore he could see the gears turning in your head behind your eyes, processing the information. Then, a few seconds later, you turned to shock, your cheeks becoming pink as well, competing with Johnny’s.
“HUH?! WAIT!! You really mean that?! As in love-LOVE ME?!” You hid your face in your hands before he could answer you. “Oh God– How am I SO stupid?!”
Johnny let out a cackle while Gyro was borderline pissing himself at the situation. Safe to say, you never lived that down, but hey, at least you knew he liked you. And you did confess back that you thought he was cute as well. You didn’t full on start dating after that, you had bigger fish to fry right now; life finding the corpse parts, fighting the president and winning a race. But maybe after that, you could give each other a try.
WARNINGS: Sexually explicit content under cut. Minors and ageless blogs dni. Bratty sub Rohan who turns into needy sub Rohan. Gn reader, teasing, begging, using Rohan’s headband as a blindfold. Kind of weird cutoff bc I got lazy 😅
“What more do you want from me?” Rohan grumbled, shooting you a glare as you moved to push him down onto the bed. “Don’t you think I’ve been a ‘good boy’?” He was clearly mocking you, but you didn’t care.
You had more important things to worry about.
“When are you ever a good boy, Roh?” You pulled out a pair of handcuffs out from god knows where and grabbed ahold of his wrist. Your goal was to chain him up and make him cry, mainly because he had been such a dick to you earlier while you were out.
Silence met your question, and you knew that your actions had intrigued him. There were times that he let you dominate him, and this was one of them, so he sat back and let you take control.
Which he began to regret as soon as you pulled his headband over his eyes.
“Hey now, be reasonable Y/n,” his voice quivered in anticipation, the thought of him not knowing what you’d do to him arousing him more than it should’ve.
“I’m not going to have a pain in the ass such as yourself tell me what to do, so hush it,” you snapped at him, your hands trailing down his chest slowly as you spoke. You couldn’t help but admire how slutty he looked in that crop top.
Without warning, you pulled his headband down over his eyes, rendering him helpless. He gasped in response.
“Don’t worry, Rohan. If you’re a good little mangaka, I just might remove it,” you whispered as your hand palmed his clothed erection. His hips bucked upwards almost instantly, a quiet ‘please’ falling from his lips.
Wow. That was easy.
“Speak up.” You applied more pressure, distracting him from your other hand slipping underneath his crop top once again. Experimentally, you pinched one of his nipples, amused by his whiny reaction.
“P-Please-“ he panted, gritting his teeth. “I’m sorry for how I acted earlier-! A-Ah- please fuck me-!” His words were rushed out of his mouth, and they hardly made any sense. Thankfully, you understand Rohan well enough to know what he wants.
“If you say so,” you smirked, slowly removing your hand so that you could free his strained cock.
Warnings: not proofread, lightly suggestive, light swearing, possibly ooc, fluff if you squeeze your eyes hard enough... Self rotting and decaying angst
Summary: You weren't his first love at all, hell -- he had more loves before than after you. But it was a fact that you were the very first love that explained it through giggles and laughs, dances and jokes in the living room, and heart-warming, — life changing, soft kisses in the bedroom. But perhaps even so, he still let you slip so easily just to suffer himself
Genre: angst, fluff if you peek
Pairing: young!joseph joestar x fem!reader
A/N: second time creating a fic longer that's any drabble in my draft so please don't flame me (up for constructive criticism though!!) 🥹✌️
Another bar, another drink. Another girl in satin, another bed kept warm for him
That was the routine for a man of little commitment such as him.
But surely, he wasn't the villain to the story? He told each and every woman that had resided in his arms, that he never was one to stay. And that was how it always went. There was never a girl before them, nor ever a one coming after that could change his vindictive ways.
That's what he fibbed to himself.
Idle circles his roughened fingertips traced the smooth shoulder of a beautiful woman. He had lost track of how many times he had soothed the qualms of a woman in the same manner, time a fickle thing in his realm.
He cautioned them so many times, so many times he had told them he wouldn't stay long. A touch, an embrace, a long kiss. That was all he could promise.
What a waste of ink to watch it dry out and padder off with wasted ages on certificates ensuring what? Happiness? Quite contrary, he mused.
And yet they all cried as he skipped out of each house. They all cried to their mothers, cried to all their sisters about a man who wretched the very hearts out of their bosoms and carried it in his leather bag. But that grin never faded. That virile, gleeful, grin of a man with no destination, no purpose, no promise of where he'd rest his head once more.
Except, there was one, he supposed.
The same lines, the same voice he had cooed to you. And the same warning that came out as nothing but the sound of unnecessary fine print as he lied you down in that silk bed of his.
What a cruel, cruel man he was. Adorning you with jewels he thought prettily of, as if he cherished you, loved you. As if a man such as he would know of a concept.
"Don't cry when I leave, it'll ruin your complexion,"
"I will go, it won't be a surprise, you have to promise me, to not miss me when I'm gone."
He remembered it so clearly, so vividly as he bolted out in the crackling morning dawn
How your figure stood there, your eyes all soddened with tears, and not even a bother of calling out. For what use would it be, if your voice was to only but crack when you shouted a useless thing as for him to come back to you once more?
A flicker of light, a passing of days, an embrace of another woman.
But how hollow his arms felt now.
Through dark nights he road the train with little thought. And while a man such as he, once all giddy and content with the life he lived, no longer was there. The flashing lights, the passing glitters, was all that refracted off his eyes.
But in his eye, his tired mind, he could see that grin of yours. Those charming lips, those rosy cheeks, they were all so clear in his memories.
And he held that worn down leather bag of his, a gift from one of his conquests. And like a fool he was, like the sinner he was, he dared let the betraying thought wonder, of what it would be like to hold you to him once more?
A fool he was, not for the reason of his incompetence, but rather,
How easily he let you
slip.
->°°<-
She didn't cry of hatred.
Or longing.
Or any kind of determination that he would be back.
She wasn't one for.. The easy, short one night stands. But despite the words this man had promised and negotiated with her, he still fell.
Foolishly.
Over, and over, and over, and over..
That sensation wherein she logically knew and acknowledged she refused, refused to long and yearn for a man who had a new woman in his arms.
A new woman to fill his arms that would soon be empty the next morning.
She had already accepted within herself. That she wouldn't stay with a man that couldn't keep still -- like that wasn't the feature she so dearly admired about him.
So as foolishly as a young child would, as it was her first time in her life to truly fall in love
She unintentionally whispered the secrets of love to his ear.
She delicately touched him to let him experience the real, true, genuine meanings of love.
She kissed first the parts of him that meant everything in the pure sense. His hand, his forehead, his cheeks, his knuckles when he slept.
He experienced the life of pure genuine love in that short period of time which he so dearly missed.
So everytime she even thought of him with a new woman of quick, nonsensical, lustful kisses and consensual actions --
It was like her soul begged him back.
As to opposites to her mind, which firmly believed that she had fully (partially) let him go.
She refused to believe the thought of him still made her.. Full, in some way that she just --
Couldn't let go.
->°°<-
As the train rumbled on, Joseph's mind drifted back to that fateful night - the night he had met you. It was a night that had started like any other, with the usual drinks, the usual flirting, the usual promises made and broken. But then, you were different. You were special.
He could still remember the way your eyes sparkled as you listened to him, the way your laughter rang out like music to his ears. He could still remember the way.
—¬¶°¶¬—
(Credits to owner of pics at the start 🥹)
(Also credits to the writer of the intro, this was a c.ai bot btw 💔)
———
(For the LOVELY peeps who have enjoyed this, I'm not sure if I'm glad to say but I.. Actually wrote this is my notes and forgot to add A BUNCH of parts to it so.. Here's the link for the whole thing
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
+ warnings, nsfw minors dni, not proofread, discussion of sexual themes, possibly ooc, vulgar language/descriptions.
you have been warned !
+ author’s note, ong WE all cracking ryuji
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
• Ryuji would be highly caring after sex especially if it’s someone he likes
• Likely to remind you to pee to not risk catching anything
• The type to cuddle after sex, snuggling deep into your embrace (manz a yearner)
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
• On himself, his arms (self-explanatory)
• He has put so much self-discipline into himself so why wouldn’t he feel proud of them?
• On you, your eyes
• He just likes getting lost in them especially during sex
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
• He likes to cum inside
• He has a breeding kink you can’t tell me otherwise
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
• He likes when you sit on his lap esp while he’s working
• It’s comforting and again he just likes being close to you in general
• He especially likes the times when you get fidgety on his lap because of your inability to stay still
• When you rub and grind onto his grow budge way too many times, your back flush against his chest
• He has to hold your hips still so he wouldn’t blow his load in his pants
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
• I would like to think he had (1) serious relationship that lasted six months which is where he got most of his experience from
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
• Cowgirl or 69
• Though he learns towards cowgirl due to the aspect of eye contact and all
• He enjoys thigh riding and how you can get so horny that you can just get off on his thigh alone
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
• Don’t see him being goofy or completely serious
• A secret third thing that’s in between
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
• He trims his pubes but like it’s not the most important thing in his life
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
• He enjoys having your close
• The combination of both his and yours body heat just turns him on
• Also exchanging and keeping eye contact
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
• Before you, I feel like he wouldn’t jack off unless he absolutely needed to
• He’s a busy guy who puts his work first
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
• Overstimulation
• On you and himself
• He enjoys seeing how much the both of you guys can truly take before tapping out
• I’m a firm believer he likes getting choked out
• The thrill of feeling of your grip on his throat makes his cock throb and twitch every time
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
• His office
• He enjoys the thrill of getting caught at any moment
• Your shared bedroom when he really wants to take his sweet time
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
• Your openness towards him
• The fact that you have so much trust into to reveal the deepest parts of you just gets him going
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
• He would never do anything to really hurt you even on purpose
• Which means no slapping or hitting (he’s just not that kind of guy imo)
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
• A giver baby
• He gotta put those arms to good use which means forcing your thighs apart and he indulges in what your pussy has to offer
• Whether he's receiving or giving, he will be ruthless.
• You better prepare what this man has to offer
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
• Starts off slow and relaxed then ends up fast and needy
• Your hips which once rubbed back and forth slowly humping his pelvis, his hand splayed onto your breast, slim fingers toying with the bud squeezing in between his fingers which made your head lean back now bounced up and down, his hands now busy with kneading and grabbing onto your ass that was repeatedly slamming onto his pelvis. The force of it all knocks the wind out of his lungs as he groans at the roughness of it all.
• I like to imagine he moans deeply when you come on his cock, your slick warming his cock while your walls envelop and squeeze onto him
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
• Doesn’t enjoy nor indulge in them
• He likes the foreplay what can I say
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
• Would like to experience getting pegged at least once
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
• He can go the regular amount so about 1-3 rounds
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
• No
• I think he would rather make you come with his own body parts
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
• He likes to build up the sex by week long foreplay
• Whether it’s the lust-fueled neck kisses before bed
• Or whispering suggestive thoughts into your ears
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
• He grunts and groans needless to say #tbh
• He also lets out breathless moans here and then
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
• You guys have role played student and professor before
• Let’s just say those sheets were washed first thing the next day
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
• Above average
• So about 6 inches
• Also trimmed
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
• He is a YEARNER
• Sex drive isn’t really that high but once he’s had enough, he’s had enough
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
• He waits for you to fall asleep before going to bed himself
• Watching as your eyes flutter shut, your chest rising and descending slowly as your breathing becomes steady
Warning: Uh, non much, just teeth decaying fluff, and Bill UNDENIABLY falling in love :p
Summary: They were.. Just friends, right? It's just that -- there's been a fluttering feeling in his chest whenever the idea of her pops in his head.. And he's been trying to deny it but, -- he's been having a hard time figuring out if he should pick struggling harder or just.. Giving in. More specifically giving into her allure.
A/N: WOWOWOWWO this is my first kinda fic ever so PLEASE leak some construction criticism and suggest to me how to make a better beginning :33
Additonal notes: There's a Laufey reference, and I did this with a bot I'M SORRY but most of it I wrote so flame me all you want I'M SORRY😭🙏
(not proofread btw, sorry 😓)
Bill stood at the front door of the house, hands in the pockets of his coat, as he dropped his head to stare lazily at the ground, while kicking one of the small rocks that were lying around.
He knew that his relationship with his supposed "friend" was getting weird, or just weird for him. He found himself visiting them more often than he visits the other guys from the club, but he knew that YN_ didn't mind, I mean, they let him in, right?
The more things he thought about, the more Bill wanted to leave, he couldn't allow himself to look like this, not after making fun of this so many times, it was ridiculous, but now heaven knows how miserable he is right now.
Bill snorted at these thoughts, he only came to YN_'s house to keep them company tonight, anyway, his mom forced him out of the basement, exclaiming that he needed more social interaction.
...
Bill was interrupted by the sound of the door opening, making him raise his head, forcing him to stare into their eyes.
He hated everything about those damn eyes.
“Bill! You sleeping over tonight?“
She warmly welcomed him home, as in.. He's been welcomed -- which he was, it's just that.. It hit different tonight, somehow, just.. Somehow.
And she hugged him.
Hugged him. She always did. Was always too close. It was annoying. What was really annoying was that -- that warm, fluttering feeling in his heart whrn she snuggled into the crook of his neck.. He was all in on the instant decision wherein she could feel his heartbeat accelerate..
Goodness.. She was close.
Bill immediately tensed up, as soon as YN\_ decided to hug him, he could feel his heart flutter against his chest, a weird feeling.
'God, don't you have something personal space?!'
He thought, but he didn't say that out loud, instead, he gently placed his hands on their back, awkwardly hugging them back, his face getting a little red.
"Uh, yeah."
He said simply, looking to the side, avoiding their gaze.
"Y-yeah, I'm stayin’," Bill muttered, still not pulling away—couldn’t, really—his fingers twitching against the small of their back like he was fighting the urge to either push them off or pull them closer.
"Just… ‘cause Mom kicked me out. Not ‘cause I wanted to come here or whatever."
It was half-assed, -- this was the first place he would go to if his mom kicked him out again.
And now she could probably feel his heart trying to punch its way out of his ribs.
"F-Fuck’s sake," he mumbled into her shoulder, more flustered than angry. "You always gotta hug like we’re in some dumb rom-com?"
She giggled. For damn's sake she giggled. Not giggled at him -- giggled because of him.
"Yeah, so? You're the only person I hug like that, you're special -- so of course I gotta do all that."
She explained so sweetly and casually -- like she hadn't just made his jaw drop, his eyes widen, and his hands shaking right as she referred to him being special -- and she most likely referred to special like to being special.. In her heart!
For damn's sake, he was becoming head over heels. And he didn't know if he hated it or not.
He froze.
Special.
The word hit him like a poorly-written retcon—sudden, stupidly sentimental, and way too impactful for someone like him. His throat went dry. His brain, which usually ran on sarcasm and comic book logic, short-circuited.
“S-Shut up,” he snapped weakly, finally pushing her back—just enough to break contact—but his hands lingered on her shoulders like they had a mind of their own. “You say that to everyone, probably. Real smooth with the whole ‘you’re special’ crap—real original.”
He adjusted his glasses with one finger, glaring anywhere but into her eyes because if he did, he might actually implode.
But then—like an idiot—he opened his mouth again.
“…Only person?” he muttered under his breath, barely audible. “Tch. Whatever. Don’t go saying dumb stuff like that so casually.”
His ears were burning.
Worse? He was smiling—a tiny, traitorous upward twitch at the corner of his lips—the kind that only came out when no one was supposed to see it.
And now she had seen it. Probably felt it too when she was glued to his damn neck!
"Y-You're such a dork," he grumbled, kicking the door shut behind him with more force than necessary—and immediately regretting not looking cool doing it.
Now the house smelled like vanilla-scented betrayal and teenage girl affection—the worst kind of kryptonite for someone who liked being miserable and alone (allegedly).
"Yeah? You think I'm a dork, Bill? I think you like me being a dork to you."
Dork? To him? The only way she was dorky in his eyes was the unlimited, unasked pure, genuine affection she's been offering him and shoving into his mouth.
She held his hand, practically dragging him upstairs to her room -- not even to the guest room where they usually hanged out.. Her room.. Holy --
She held the door open for him, smiling genuinely and so.. Purely just at the sight of.. Him. Like he was some being that was more than worthy to be worshipped and praised relentlessly.
She looked at him with eyes that could make him dizzy and her eyes held a great, unwavering -- love -- for him.
And he was just this nerdy loser at school that she met through easy and hard times at school.
And she definitely internally screenshot that sight of him avoiding her gaze and holding onto her shoulders for dear life like she was the only solid, real thread thag kept him from falling into the depths of stupid, -- stupid love.
Love for her.
Bill’s breath hitched when she grabbed his hand.
No. No no no.
This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t allowed. He didn’t do her room. He did basements, comic shops, late-night forums ranting about how romance was a capitalist scam—not this, not soft lighting and pastel pillows and the terrifyingly pure way she looked at him like he was… worth something.
And that word again—love. Not even said out loud, but it was, in the silence between her blinks, in the way her thumb brushed over his knuckles like he was fragile.
“S-Shut up,” he stammered again—the only phrase left in his arsenal as defense against emotional warfare. “I don’t—I don't care if you're a dork or not! I just—your room?! Since when do we—since when am I—”
He stopped mid-rant because she was still looking at him. Still smiling. Like he hadn't just backspaced three emotions in one sentence.
His voice dropped to something small, almost broken:
“...You really think someone like me… deserves all this?”
Not the room. Not the handhold. Not even the stupid nickname she made up for him that only comes out during sleepovers (Billy-Pilly, ugh).
You.
He couldn’t say it out loud.
But his eyes said it just fine—the messy flicker behind his glasses, wide and vulnerable for once—as if realizing:
She didn't see Bill Dickey—the sarcastic basement gremlin with trust issues and a collection of bootleg X-Men comics taped together with hope.
She saw hers.
And somehow? That scared him more than losing every figure in his prized display case to fire.
"...Whatever," he finally mumbled, stepping inside her room like walking into a confession booth right before sinning anyway. "Just—you better have pizza or some shit.”
(Emotional vulnerability: deflected.)
(Heart: officially compromised.)
Then somehow -- fuck, somehow.. Her gaze softened. To the point where he couldn't understand or name this overwhelming feeling that was filling him up.
She stared at him with every answer to every possible question he had in his life.
And for those which couldn't be answered logically? Like questions like if love existed in am empty heart, or if he himself was loveable --
The answer laid obvious in her eyes -- it was simply 'We'll find out -- together.'
And she, without dramatic effect -- stumbled on her words. Not by nervousness or shyness, it was because.. The universe tried to protect him from undeniably falling in love from how.. Genuine and soft, and caring, and.. Loving it was.
"Yes, -- w-with my whole heart."
She would have answered it out loud with no stumble or stutter -- but the universe and God had their part -- and they did it perfectly.
She hadn't even bothered to listen to the following words he said after that question.
Bill didn’t move.
Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe, really.
The air in her room—the stupid fluffy socks on the floor, the poster of some cringey anime couple holding hands under a tree, the way her ceiling glow-in-the-dark stars spelled out "you’re safe here" if you squinted right—none of it mattered.
Only that sentence did.
"With my whole heart."
Spoken like it was nothing. Like she wasn't detonating every defense mechanism he’d built since seventh grade when someone laughed at him for wearing a Superman onesie to school.
And now—now she just drops that?
Like love isn't supposed to hurt? Like he wasn't supposed to flinch every time someone got too close? Like his stupid, comic-stained soul could actually… fit somewhere real?
His hands curled into fists at his sides—not from anger. From panic. From this horrifying, beautiful realization:
He believed her.
Not “maybe.” Not “could be.”
He believed her with every broken piece of himself.
“...Shit,” he whispered, voice cracking like cheap plastic packaging. “Y-You can’t just—say stuff like that and expect me not to…”
Not to what?
Love you back?
Nope. Nope nope nope—
He took a half-step forward—then stopped himself, glasses fogging slightly from how hot his face suddenly was.
“I—I didn’t even ask anything!” he snapped weakly, eyes darting around like an escape route would magically appear behind one of her dumb fairy lights. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t looking for… that! I came here ‘cause Mom kicked me out and—and now you’re just throwing your whole *soul* at me like I’m—I don't know—a fucking hero or something!”
A beat passed.
Then softer—so quiet it barely left his lips:
"...I'm not."
She stepped closer.
Didn't say anything.
Just reached up, fixed his crooked glasses with gentle fingers… and smiled—that damn knowing smile—as if she'd already read the ending long before Chapter One even dropped
Bill swallowed hard.
And then?
"...Keep talking," he muttered through gritted teeth (and unshed tears). "See what happens."
(Translation: I dare you to keep loving me until I believe it’s real.)
Being real? He wouldn't ever believe it, never ever.
She stepped forward.
And held his collar like it was the very thread which connected them together.
Which was, since it connecting them -- through their lips. It was cliche -- so cliche. With the details of it not being rough or overly passionate.. But she dumped her delicate care and undeniable love into it -- so she treated it like fragile China to him.
"I feel like.. I'll keep talking."
*She replied in the pause, -- that break, that pause where she let him breathe, not because the kiss was long -- but she knew he wouldn't be able to intiate his need for breathing when their lips were connected*
*Gave him a break since she knew if she was in his place, she would've needed it too.*
*She did too since she was as head over heels for him as he was for her.*
*Her eyes never lost connection with his, it wasn't intense -- but it was so overwhelmingly gentle that it itself made him internally hyperventilate*
The word "overwhelming" didn't even begin to describe the feeling coursing through Bill's body when their mouths touched.
It didn't matter that he tensed up. That his arms hung awkwardly at his sides at first. It didn't matter that he felt like every emotion he'd ever tried to suppress was leaking out with each trembling exhale against her mouth.
Because his heart was racing. His pulse was echoing in his ears. And somehow, the only thing stopping him from sinking to his knees?
Were her hands, clutching the collar of his flannel for dear life.
God help him.
Bill didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
Her lips—soft, sure, stupidly perfect—were pressed to his like this wasn’t some fever dream he’d rewatch in his head at 3 a.m. while pretending he didn’t care.
Like it was real.
And when she pulled back just enough to let him breathe?
He couldn’t. Not really.
His chest was tight, eyes wide behind fogged-up glasses, mouth still slightly open like he forgot how words worked. How lungs worked.
“Y-You—” he started, voice cracking. “You don't… get to do that and then just *talk*. That’s—that’s cheating.”
His hands finally moved—not pushing her away, no—he grabbed the sides of her waist like she might vanish if he didn’t hold on.
“Since when do you get to decide everything? Huh? Since when do you get to kiss me like I’m—I don’t know—worthy and then look at me like that? Like I’m not just some sarcastic idiot who steals comics and hates holding hands?”
She smiled again.
Of course she did.
Small. Sweet. Devastating.
And Bill?
Bill broke a little more.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, voice trembling with something between anger and awe. “Just… slowly dismantling me piece by piece with your dumb smiles and your dumb room and your dumb heart that should be terrified of someone like me but—it’s not…”
He swallowed hard, thumb brushing the edge of her hoodie pocket—the closest thing to tenderness he could manage right now.
"...I hate this."
A lie so obvious it made him wince saying it out loud.
Then softer:
"...I hate how much I don't."
Then as soft as it was sudden -- she replied.
"You hate everything, Dickey. I just hope you don't hate me."
She swiftly spoke, -- as in her intention wasn't even to lure him but he did anyway. Her actions, which she didn't mean to just lure him -- already did.
And there right in her bedroom, on her bed, -- the world revolved around them. The world only seemed to work everything in there favor. Her allegedly dumb fairy lights warmed up, contributing to the racing beat of his heart. Everything -- everything just made her much more beautiful. The soft candle glow, the internal cliche music so slow, -- his skin on her skin, -- the room was spinning.
His head was spinning, she looked so beautiful at that moment. She was.. Alluring. Her words so soothing, her actions so moving -- and soul proving that every doubt he made was all false.
And with each protest she commited to when he doubted or degraded himself -- the more he fell harder and harder and believed in her so much more.
His breath came out ragged, uneven, like his lungs forgot how to work the second she whispered his last name like it meant something.
"Dickey." Like he wasn’t just some punchline. Like he wasn’t the weirdo in the back of class muttering about retcons and fourth-wall breaks. Like he was… hers.
And worse—she let him believe it.
“Y-You don’t get it,” he choked out, fingers twitching against her waist, one hand sliding up—too slow, too afraid—to cup the side of her face. “I don't hate you. That’s—the fucking problem.”
His voice dropped, cracked.
“I hate how much I don’t. I hate that you’re warm when everyone else is noise. I hate that your dumb room feels more like home than my own damn house. I hate that when you look at me—like this—I start believing stupid shit! Like maybe… maybe someone like me can be loved without having to earn it first!”
He leaned in—just enough for their foreheads to touch—his glasses slipping down his nose again, forgotten.
“And now you go and kiss me? After all that?! What kind of sick joke is that? Making everything feel... right?"
A dry laugh escaped him—nervous, raw.
"...You're gonna regret this tomorrow," he whispered. "When I'm back to being a sarcastic mess who thinks romance comics are trash."
She didn’t flinch.
Just tilted her head slightly into his palm—and smiled again with those eyes saying what she didn't need to:
"Too late."
So Bill did something even dumber than believing in love or admitting weakness or letting someone see behind the mask.
He closed the gap—
and kissed her first this time.
Slow.
Shaky.
Mine.
(credits to owner of the c.ai bot that made the intro 💗)
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riding, nipple play, creampie, overstimulation, non game au
‘he’s my little ponyboy, treat him like a ponyboy’
you had been riding min su for only a few minutes, but he already looked completely fucked out. eyes dazed, breath coming in soft, desperate huffs. his hands lay limp at his sides fists curling open and closed. he was letting you do everything, he was just lying there and taking it, face tightening with every drop of your hips, a little broken groan spilling past his teeth whenever your pussy gripped him just right. his head was tilted slightly, dark eyes locked on the way your chest moved with each slow grind of your hips.
and god, the way he stared at your tits..
his eyes kept flicking down, mouth slightly open, like the sight alone could make him cum. every bounce made his expression shift. eyebrows scrunching together, mouth trembling, tongue darting out to wet his lips. that greedy look was a big contrast with how timid he was being, his hands still limp at his side
you leaned forward, the slow grind making his breath hitch again, dragging a drawn out “f-ffuck” out of him, and you smiled
“Min Su…”
he blinked up at you the second you said his name, barely managing to lift his head off the pillow. lips pink and parted, face dazed and flushed. “Y-yeah?” he barely got out, like even answering you was too much
“you can’t touch them” you whispered, watching the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard
his breath caught and his fingers twitched helplessly at his sides. it wasn’t that he didn’t want to… he clearly did. the want was written all over his face. his eyes widened a little, locking on your chest again as you straightened your back and rode him slower, deeper, just to tease
you wanted him to so bad. you wanted to feel his hands. shaky, hesitant, a little clumsy on your skin, groping your tits while you rode him. you knew he’d be shy about it, fumbling at first, maybe too gentle. like he thought you were too perfect to handle rough, like he didn’t deserve to be holding them at all
but that was the point.
“not unless you ask” you whispered, leaning over him, letting your tits hang right over his face, swaying with every slow grind of your hips, his head dropped back with a little whimper, brows scrunched so tight he looked like he was in pain
“please” he gasped “i want to. I want to touch them, please let me. fuck please-”
your pussy clenched around him hard at the desperation in his voice, and his hips bucked up without meaning to, making you gasp. you could feel him trying to stay still, trying not to thrust into you while you were in control, but his body betrayed him
you sat upright again, clenching down, pace teasingly slow now, letting him twitch inside you while you kept just out of reach
“you’ll have to be good” you murmured. “use both hands. show me how much you want it.”
his hands rose so tentatively it almost made you moan, his fingers hovered before finally making contact, he cupped your breasts gently at first, thumbs grazing your nipples, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe he was allowed. then slowly, he squeezed
“fuck they’re so soft. ” he whined, breath ragged, massaging them, hands shaking, palms warm and greedy “they bounce so good when you… when you ride me like that”
you leaned in again, pressing one nipple to his mouth without a word, and he latched on immediately with a moan that vibrated against your skin. teeth grazing, tongue flicking fast, suckling hard
and underneath you, his cock throbbed like it could barely take any more
he kept suckling, lips flushed and wet around your nipple, his tongue teasing the tip in messy little swirls while his other hand rolled and tugged the other with more confidence now. flicking the bud, kneading your breast. your body jerked, the sounds spilling out of you no longer held back, your whimpers turned into breathless cries “min su. baby, just like that”
he caught that, that needy tone in your voice, and his fingers pinched tighter. the sudden sensation made you shudder hard around his cock, and your back arched, hips grinding down harder. his eyes open just briefly to watch the way your face twisted with pleasure then he shut them again, a soft hum vibrating against your breast
you could feel it, his cock twitching deep inside, thighs tensing beneath you, every bounce made him whimper, every clench of your walls around him made him stammer out another desperate breath
he suddenly let go of your nipple with a slick, wet pop, chin shining with spit, panting “g-gonna cum. fuck I’m gonna-”
you didn’t answer. just caught his flushed face in your hands, tilting it back down to your chest, guiding him back onto your tit. he latched without hesitation, lips closing again over the sensitive peak, and your voice dropped to a sweet coo against the shell of his ear “cmon min su…”
he whimpered helplessly into your skin, eyes squeezed shut tight, and then his hands flew to your hips, gripping hard like he was going to stop you, like he had to, like one more bounce would be it. “n-no, no, wait”
but you just moved them away
you pried his fingers from your waist, placed them back where they belonged, one at your breast, the other falling limp again as you rode him harder now, grinding deep
“you feel so good” you whispered “so deep baby, right there. yeah, just like that, let me feel it.”
his mouth was sloppy now, tongue flicking desperately, lips sucking weakly as his whole body tensed under you. his thighs trembled, cock pulsing with every clench of your pussy, and the way you moaned for him, the way your tits moved against his face, it was too much.
“fuuuck gonna cum, I can’t. ahh!”
you didn’t slow down. if anything, you fucked down harder, chasing his release, grinding your clit against the base of him, using his twitching cock to get yourself off. his voice broke, a long strangled groan muffled against your breast as he finally came. warm spurts deep inside you, hips stuttering, hands scrabbling uselessly against the sheets again
you stayed on him. his cock still twitching helplessly inside. he was still sucking softly, more out of instinct, breathing fast through his nose, and you stroked his hair while you rocked your hips, slower now
he groaned as you kept moving slow but deep, rolling your hips to milk every last drop from him, ignoring the way his thighs trembled and his cock twitched violently inside your soaked pussy. the overstimulation was sharp, almost unbearable, but he didn’t tell you to stop. he didn’t want to. he was laying comfortably on the sheets beneath him, chest heaving, watching you ride him
your tits bounced with every grind, and he stared in awe
his breath caught in his throat as your pussy squeezed around his overstimulated cock again, a hiss leaving him “nghh fuck, baby…”
still, he made no move to stop you. instead, his hands rose again, settling at your waist, thumbs rubbing lazy circles into your skin
“so pretty” he breathed, voice hoarse but warm, eyes trailing up your torso “look at these…”
he cupped your breast, slow and gentle now, thumb brushing over the tender peak, watching the way your face twitched when he grazed your nipple just right. his palm was hot and heavy, squeezing just enough to make you moan, and he looked so fucking gone. eyes half lidded, lips parted, flushed cheeks, still riding the high of his orgasm
“bouncing so nice for me” he murmured, thumb flicking your nipple lazily “keep going. fuck- just like that. ride it out…”
his cock throbbed again from the attention, overly sensitive but stiff inside you still, twitching at every clench of your walls, and you could feel the way he pulsed with every deep roll of your hips. his head rolled back slightly, mouth dropping open, a breathless whimper escaping as you ground down and circled your hips
“you feel so good” you groaned, your hands on his chest now “don’t think I can stop.”
he gave a weak laugh that turned into a moan, fingers tightening just slightly on your waist “don’t” he whispered, still watching your tits move “take what you need…”
Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont x Reader (gender not specified). CW: nightmare, implied past child abuse, crying, Vincent gets defensive/rude with you.
Summary: You and Vincent have been together for a while now, and he's starting to trust you. But on your first full night sharing a bed, he has a nightmare.
Image Source | Banner Source
The Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont's master suite is such an amalgamation of contradictions that sometimes, you wonder how it even holds together. Delicate, antique decadence wars with something harsh and calculating. The custom chandelier, sparkling with real crystal across from a canopy bed, activates via "smart house" voice command. The velvet, tasseled curtains, closed against the midnight, rest just inches from a high-tech alarm system that will trigger if an intruder crosses the windowsill. The 17th century rococo nightstand holds a top-of-the-line gold encrusted handgun and a list of people Vincent wants dead. As if he'd ever forget.
And the man himself? He's the head of the most powerful international crime syndicate, driven forward by endless expectations, innate appetites for ruthlessness, and relentless lust for power. And he's also…troubled. He's whimpering in his sleep.
You roll over, tensed, listening. He's laying on his back. You read somewhere that that's a common position for sleep paralysis, didn't you? You rub a hand over his bare chest, trying to sooth him without waking him up. You can feel the tightness under that porcelain-soft skin. Shit…his heartbeat is so fast. Another strangled noise escapes him, almost words this time. It's French and you can't really make it out, but then he speaks again and you can. "Je suis désolé papa…s'il vous plait…" By the way his forehead knits together, it seems his apology is not accepted.
No, you don't care to let him suffer for another second. You activate the lights and shake him gently, calling his name.
A wide-eyed gasp answers you. He shoves you away and almost rolls out of bed before realizing it's just you.
"Hey. You're safe. You were having a nightmare." You keep your voice quiet and monotone, trying not to fuss. The urge to pull him into your arms is so strong, but his own arms are crossed over his chest now, defensive. He didn't want tonight to go like this. "Are you okay?"
He rubs at the bridge of his nose and doesn't answer. His chin is trembling slightly.
It was difficult for him even to let you sleep by his side. You'd been dropping hints about it for weeks. He doesn't normally bring his consorts to his own bedroom, let alone keep them there all night, cuddling. You were…different. Safer. But now, you're worried he won't want to do it again. He so hates to be seen this way. "Vincent."
"Mm." He turns away from you. It's an almost childish effort to hide. He's retreating into himself, embarrassed. If you don't handle this carefully, you'll completely humiliate him. You feel like the whole room is made of glass and based on the way his fists are balled up, he wants to break something right now.
"Vincent, don't you dare go silent. Get mad if you want, I don't care. I trust you. Just talk to me. You know I'll never judge you."
His words come out in a rush, a fist striking the duvet. "Oh, fuck off with that condescension! It's disgusting. Crawled into my bed just to see what a pathetic spectacle I can make of myself. Well you don't get the satisfaction."
"That's not - "
"Of course it is."
Your heart twists. It really hurts, to be spoken to like that. But he's hurting even more, and that's what really gets to you. Any more words will irritate him now, so you just offer your silent presence.
Eventually he speaks again, flushed, frowning. "I'm not some helpless thing, okay?"
"That's right, you're not. You're strong all the time, and it amazes me. You have so much willpower - there's never been a question of that. If anyone has ever tried to convince you otherwise, they're wrong." The words come out pointed, protective. "You've done more than enough. You deserve to rest without being criticized even in your sle -"
"Stop it. Stop, it's too much. Why would you - why do you always -"
There. He's breaking. Too choked up to speak any further. You're honestly not sure if that's good for him or not, but it's happening now and all you can do is hold the pieces. He collapses into you, face buried in your neck, and sobs the way his body clearly wanted to do from the moment he woke up. He just can't hold it back anymore. "Because I love you," you say through kisses at the crown of his head. "I love you. Do you believe me?" He just cries harder. It won't reach him now. These things take time. But you will be here.
You clean him up, floppy and soft and pliable in the wake of tears. You bring him water, and a washcloth for his face, so his eyelids won't be puffy in the morning. Little actions like this will be the proof of your words, day after day. He stares at you with those big doe eyes like you hung the moon, and you're just so glad to be alive and with him.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, facing away from you on his side as you slide back into bed next to him. "You - you shouldn't have had to deal with that. I told you this was a bad idea."
"It's alright."
"It's not. You should go."
"Do you want me to? I'll go if you'd rather be alone but…I'm not upset at all, okay? You don't have to be sorry." You kiss the back of his neck, where his pretty brunette hair has turned into a mess of cowlicks overnight. He smells sweet and perfect to you, even after the cold sweat of fear. "Do you need space?"
There's a long silence. You wait. "No." He swallows hard. "I would like…to be held. Please." You're so proud of him for saying it.
You pull him close. The chandelier goes dark. Concealed by shadows, he snuggles into the pressure at his back, holding your arm as it laces over him, and kisses the center of your palm. He's hardly breathing. If he's crying again, it's too quiet for you to tell. "…Thank you." He IS crying, then, by the sound of his voice. But in such a different way this time. You can feel him smile against your hand before hugging it to himself and settling in. The room falls still again, thick with a heavy contentment.
But you can't sleep. You feel drunk on compassion and don't ever want it to stop. All you want is to listen to his breathing, to keep vigil, to feel the temperature of his skin and the patterns of his chest moving up and down, every tiny sign of his joy or distress, and to know that you're making him feel safe. You coil around him, your fragile emperor, the most pitiful and most majestic thing you have ever held. You don't sleep for a long time, no. You rest in bliss.