#*my writing

Simon felt them as your knees brushed against his sides, against his ribs, dangerously close to enfolding around him. He’d watch your eyes flutter open, blinking away some haze to find him.

“Pretty girl,” he’d murmur, entranced by your softened, gentle mouth and thumbing the plump edge of it, and fuck, if he didn’t get hard right then and there at your contented smile and the fond caress of your hand as you hooked your palm over the back of his neck, nails seeking his hair. Your upper lip enveloped Simon’s aimless thumb and took him into the sweet warmth of your mouth, tasting the salt of his skin, and the bulge in his jeans made itself at home right against your pelvis.

You’d give a surprised and pleased moan at the feel of him before he could feel ashamed (Christ, what happened to taking things slow?), and it would be so easy to fumble with each other’s clothes, kissing all the while he unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them down your thighs, pinning your knees to your front because he’s too impatient for his access. Freeing himself, tugging your panties to the side so you were exposed, and then the perfect, seamless slotting together ascending to firm, yet gentle thrusts. God yes, Simon thinks, rutting against you now, it’d only take a few, and he could circle and press your clit so you’d come as quickly as he would lost in the grip, the warmth, the sounds of your moans and slick sex and the delirious motion and rhythm of moving within you until he peaks and you leak with his spend. 

At the sudden, soft inquiry of his name and your waist curving into him to meet his fervor, he snaps out of his reverie. He pulls away and sits up, breath ragged, with the last of his restraint.

“’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to get so carried away.”  

even more groans, like he’s drowning in it. “fuckin—just fuckin’ ride it, please.”

and you wouldn’t hide your smirk as you continued to drag your hips over him. your hand traveling down to play with his curls, pulling at the back of his head so you can push even further down on his nose: “you're so generous, baby.”

“want you happy,” he’d mumble against you. between harsh kisses to your clit, and sneaking a glance at you, “are you happy?”

you know better than to make him beg when he's glassy-eyed and sensitive.

The clock in the hallway was chiming one o'clock when Y/N finally locked the front door behind her. The sun had set hours ago, but her director seemed to care little about time or the lives of others. Even if it took hours, he was determined for her to get the perfect take, and Y/N felt like her bones were about to shatter by the end of the day.

The only other thing on her mind was getting home to Bill, who she knew would be waiting for her. But now he was bound to be fast asleep in bed, and that was the only thing she wanted to do, too.

She groaned softly as she kicked her shoes off at the front door and hung her jacket up on the coat rack before trudging through the house and up the stairs to the bedroom. She didn't bother to turn any of the lights on as she went, letting muscle memory do her eyes' jobs as her whole body cried and screamed with each step.

Finally, she came to the bedroom door and pushed it open as slowly and quietly as she could, the hinges squeaking softly as they were forced open. She couldn't see, but she could tell that Bill was already asleep in bed, the soft sounds of his breathing drifting over to her ears. The carpet was soft under her feet as she tiptoed over to the bed, leaving the room in darkness as her eyes adjusted.

She could just make out Bill's silhouette, the sheets tangled in his legs as he clutched her pillow close to his chest as if it were her body, his face half buried in it. The sight made her smile, and her heart pulled a little. She'd often done the same thing while he was away; the scent of his cologne often clung to the fabric and soothed her on lonely nights, but knowing that he also did it just made her love him even more.

Carefully, she climbed onto her side of the bed and crawled over to him, keeping her movements slow and measured so as not to wake him up. He was the picture of peace when she finally managed to see him: his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted, his face still and content, and his hair sticking up where it had rustled against his pillow.

Even though he was on a break from work, Y/N had noticed how tired he'd been lately, especially when her own work days lasted for so long. She told him every single day that he didn't need to wait up for her to come home, but it appeared that he just couldn't stay up much longer for once. Even in the dark, she could see the shadows under his eyes, and she had a good feeling that they would be bloodshot once open.

She gently reached out to stroke his hair, keeping her touch soft and gentle, like she was handling a baby. The dark locks were soft when they slipped through her fingers, and the smell of his shampoo drifted into her nose as she leaned down to softly kiss he top of his head, gauging whether or not he would wake up. He murmured softly and nuzzled her pillow as he wrapped his toned arms tighter around it.

"Sleep well, honey," Y/N whispered before leaving a soft kiss on his forehead, letting her lips linger before she dragged herself away from him and into the bathroom.

She quietly closed the door behind her, making sure it didn't slam, before turning on the light. The sudden illumination made her eyes sting, and she squeezed them shut to give herself time to adjust before finding a towel and turning the shower on as hot as she could get it. Steam started to fill the room, fogging up the mirror until she could no longer see herself, and she let herself breathe deeply, the warmth blowing away the cobwebs in her head and letting her muscles relax.

After tying her hair up, washing her face, and dropping her dirty clothes into the hamper, Y/N stepped into the shower and let the warm water cascade over her body, washing away the dirt and grime from the day. A soft groan escaped her lungs as she stood under the scalding water, her tired muscles relaxing as she continued to breathe in the steam and let it soothe her sore throat.

Part of her felt bad for making Bill wait so long for her to come home, but a more selfish part of her thought that he could wait just a little longer for her to finally go to bed. Y/N was so used to going to bed alone and waking up in the middle of the night to the feeling of Bill slipping under the covers next to her that it was normal to her.

She finished up her shower as quickly as she could, leaving her tired body smelling sweet as she towelled off and continued with the rest of her night routine. Her mind cleared as she finished her skincare routine and brushed her teeth, only concerned with finally getting some well-earned sleep.

Just as Y/N had put her toothbrush down, she felt a familiar pair of strong, toned arms snake around her waist and pull her into a warm body. The reflections in the mirror in front of her were still foggy from the steam, but she could recognise Bill's silhouette anywhere.

"I thought you were asleep," she said with a sigh as she relaxed into his embrace, relishing the feeling of his warm hands skimming over her arms.

"I was," Bill said, his voice low and scratchy in her ear. "But you woke me up."

"I didn't mean to," Y/N said as his hands continued to roam her body and he bent down to softly kiss her shoulder. "You just looked so cute."

He trailed his kisses across her shoulder and up her neck, making her skin tingle with each brush of his lip as his fingers crept underneath her towel.

"Not as cute as you," he husked before kissing the spot behind her ear and pushing the towel to the floor, leaving her completely bare for him.

Y/N shuddered when his fingers brushed over her nipples, her pussy starting to clench and dampen when he took her breasts in his hands and squeezed them softly, his lips never leaving her neck.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper as she placed her hands over his.

"I waited all night for you to come home," he mumbled into her warm skin, his right hand drifting away from her breast and down to her lower stomach to pull her closer to his body. She whined when she felt him push his clothed erection into her behind and shuffled on her feet to let him slip his fingers between her legs. "You left me with this, and I didn't even get a chance to play with you before I fell asleep."

A moan crawled its way out of Y/N's lungs when he started to lightly circle her clit, and she fought the urge to squirm out of his arms. Her mind was screaming at her to sleep, but her body had an entirely different idea.

"But I'm tired, baby," she whined as her head fell back onto his shoulder. "I've had such a long day."

"Then the least you can let me do is fuck you to sleep."

Her whole body shuddered with desire, and her cunt clenched hard at his words, a fresh wave of arousal gushing out of her. Instead of giving him a response, she turned around in his arms and brought her hands up to his face, holding him still so she could kiss him softly. As her eyes drifted closed, she felt his lips brush against hers, and he took the lead, gently slipping his tongue into her mouth and pushing his fingers inside her needy pussy. He groaned against her mouth as he felt how wet she already was for him, her sweet spot already swollen enough for him to play with.

Y/N felt as if something had switched in her body; she was no longer concerned with sleep. All she wanted now was to feel every single inch of Bill; she wanted his hands all over her body, and his hard cock inside her.

"I missed you," she breathed into his mouth, her voice muffled by his kisses. "I spent all day wanting to come home to you."

"I missed you, too, baby," Bill said when he reluctantly broke off the kiss. Gently, he pulled his fingers out of her dripping pussy and licked them clean as he used his free hand to push his underwear to the floor, leaving them both completely bare. "C'mon, let's go to bed."

Bill took Y/N's hand and led her out of the bathroom, flicking the light off before he closed the door behind them, leaving them in the dark bedroom again. She could just see where they were going in the dark, thankfully the floor was clear as he brought her to the unmade bed and sat down on the mattress with his long legs stretched out in front of him.

"C'mere," he said as he reached out to take her hand, "come sit in my lap."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat when she realised what he wanted to do. Even though her body was sore and tired, she couldn't pass up the opportunity to fuck herself on his cock while sitting in his lap.

She eagerly crawled onto the bed and into his lap, not yet touching his hard cock as she cupped his face in her palms and kissed him softly, letting their tongues dance together as he gently played with her breasts, holding them with his large palms and gently squeezing her sensitive nipples.

Her hips started to buck against him and she lowered herself onto him, dragging her wet pussy along his shaft to slick him up, making him softly moan against her lips. Even though she couldn't see him, she knew that he looked beautiful: his big eyes hooded with lust, his soft lips slightly parted, and his hair perfectly tousled.

"I want you," he breathed against her mouth when she took his cock in her hand, giving him a few slow pumps, and spreading her arousal around. "I need you, baby."

Slowly, Y/N sank onto Bill's cock, savouring the feeling of him opening her up before wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him close to her. Their foreheads pressed together, she slowly rolled her hips forward and backwards as he caressed her back with his large palms and kneaded her hips, helping her keep her movements steady.

"You feel so fucking good, baby," he sighed before brushing his lips against hers again, kissing her softly and sweetly. "Definitely worth the wait."

Y/N moaned into the kiss as she clenched around him, her sweet spot grinding against his cock and her clit brushing against his skin with each rock of her hips. She always loved being so close to him like this, their bodies entangled as they moved together as one, feeling each other's heartbeats until they melted together.

Her tired body continued to move lazily against his as she savoured his kisses, tasting toothpaste on his tongue as her fingers tangled in his thick hair, alternating between scratching his scalp, stroking his hair, and pulling it. He hummed against her lips and pulled her closer to his chest, her breasts pushing up against him so her sensitive nipples could rub against his skin.

Reluctantly, Y/N broke the kiss to catch her breath and buried her face in the crook of his neck as she continued to roll her hips into him, her clit tingling and twitching with each pass. Soft, breathy moans escaped her mouth as she kissed the side of his throat, smelling his leftover cologne and shampoo. All the different sensations were starting to overwhelm her until the only thing on her mind was how he was making her feel; his warm hands stroking up and down her back, his soft lips caressing her shoulder, and his hard cock inside her as they both wound her body closer and closer to climax.

"M'gonna cum, baby," she panted as her hips started to buck faster into his, her swollen clit tingling more as her stomach started to tighten itself into a knot.

"Already?" Bill teased as he trailed his right hand between their bodies to play with her clit. "Here, I'll help you."

Her body jolted at the added stimulation, and Y/N leaned backwards slightly to give him more space, changing the angle. She found it difficult to roll her hips in the position while he stroked her clit, but just the sensation of his thumb on her clit while his cock was inside her was enough to make her eyes roll back.

"Fuck, you look so good like this," he breathed as he rubbed her clit faster and pushed his hips up into hers. "C'mon, baby, let me feel you cum."

Y/N forced herself to keep her eyes open as the knot in her stomach finally snapped, warmth spreading throughout her body as her cunt clamped down on Bill's cock and her clit twitched under his thumb. He held her body still by wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her back into his body as his lips latched onto her neck, feeling how her throat vibrated with each cry and moan that came from her lungs.

Once she'd finally come back to Earth, she took Bill's face in her hands again and crashed her lips against him, kissing him sloppily in her cock-drunk stupor.

"More," she mumbled against his mouth, clenching around him again. "Make me cum again."

He laughed softly between kisses and held her close to his chest before lying down on the bed, pulling her on top of him without his cock leaving her.

"You can never have just one, can you?" he crooned in her ear as she buried her face in his neck again. "So needy."

A pleasured groan of his own flew out into the night air as he started to gently thrust up into her, letting her lie still on his chest as she scratched at his shoulders and kissed his neck. As much as she'd liked being able to fuck herself on his cock, she loved being taken care of by him even more.

He always knew exactly what she liked and what she needed, and at that moment, she needed him to be soft and gentle with her sore body. Her clit was too tired to be played with again, but thankfully her sweet spot was still swollen enough to be stimulated by his cock.

"This is a better way to finish the night, isn't it?" Bill whispered in her ear, softly groaning when her body shuddered and tensed around his cock. "Just you and me, taking care of each other late into the night. I'd stay up to fuck you all night if I could."

Y/N whined again and her pussy fluttered around him, signalling that she was already close again. Her hips started to move on their own, matching his rhythm as her breathing picked up and she whined louder and louder into his shoulder.

"You gonna cum again?" he asked as he stroked her back, running his fingers up and down the notches of her spine. He felt her nod into his shoulder and sped up his thrusts slightly. "Cum with me, baby."

Y/N clenched around his cock repeatedly, helping her second orgasm of the night come more easily. Her eyes screwed shut as it finally arrived, her sensitive pussy spasming around him as she gasped and moaned into his shoulder, drawing his orgasm out of him. She listened to his own moans and curses as he shot his warm cum into her, painting her insides white as he continued to fuck her through their highs.

She was just about to crawl off of him when she felt his hands on her hips, holding her still. Her spent pussy felt so full with both his cock and cum still inside her, but she didn't want him to leave her. Not when they were still so close.

"Let's stay like this," Bill said, tiredness starting to steep into his voice as he pulled the sheets back over them. "You still feel so good."

Y/N hummed in agreement as she settled further into his body, her breathing starting to slow down as sleep began to take over her body. She tried to find the energy to kiss him or say good night, but her eyes were closing on their own and her body was losing the battle.

The last thing she felt before finally slipping into dreamland was Bill's lips on her forehead and his cock still inside her, slowly softening as sleep took him too.

"Mademoiselle, wait!"

Y/N could hear the doorman shouting after her, loud and clear, his voice echoing as it bounced off the marble, but she gave him not even a grain of attention. She'd been paid to do her job and given orders to return immediately, and that was exactly what she was going to do. Regardless of whether or not she was soaked in her hit's blood from head to toe.

She hadn't really cared about her outfit at the beginning of the mission, although she did have a small burst of pride at knowing that he'd bought and had it tailored specially for her, thinking that trying to kill someone in a silk gown was impractical, but now that the fabric stuck to her skin she just wanted to rip it off of her. At this point in her career, she cared little for modesty, and she knew that the servants who whispered about her and giggled behind their hands thought the same.

A couple of giggling maids caught her attention, only to be stopped dead in their tracks by her glare, before she continued to march through the estate, her stiletto heels clacking loudly with each step as she left a trail of blood in her wake. All she wanted was to forget about the mission, take her payment, shower, and retire to bed, but she had to see him first. There was no way he was going to let her go without seeing her first, especially not when he'd sent her on such a dangerous mission to begin with.

Finally, she reached the Council Room where he was waiting for her: the Marquis. The rest of his staff regarded her with poorly veiled shock, her blood-soaked body sticking out like a sore thumb against the pristine surroundings. He turned in his seat to look at her, barely acknowledging her soiled clothes once she came to stand right next to him.

"Well?" the Marquis asked simply, his eyes lazily trailing over her body.

"It's done," Y/N responded coldly, trying to keep her body still as her anger faded away.

"All of them?" He cocked an eyebrow at her before standing and circling her, taking in how filthy she was, the blood still dripping from the hems of the gown.

"Every last one." Y/N kept her face blank, not letting him or anyone else in the room see how close she was to breaking.

"Trés bien," he said with a cold smile, before waving a hand at his servants. "Leave us."

Y/N turned to leave, her stilettos sliding against the marble, but was stopped by the Marquis grabbing her wrist.

"Not you." He watched as everyone else left, his fingers still wrapped around her sticky wrist in a loose hold. Once they were alone, he gently tugged on her arm to lead her away. "Come, you're making a mess of my floors."

She bit back a sigh and followed him through the gigantic rooms, their echoing footsteps the only sounds as she led him to his chambers.

The same room she ended up in every night they were together.

Her old tiny apartment in the 18th arrondissement was a far cry from her current living space on the Marquis' grand estate, but even that was nothing compared to his own chambers. But she hadn't continued with the assassin lifestyle for money; she simply did not need it since her employer bought her whatever she wanted, would even rip the moon out of the sky if she asked.

She barely had time to breathe in the delicate scent of cologne that filled the room before being dragged into the bathroom, almost falling when her heel slipped. Had she not been so dirty, he would have caught her, but she knew better than to get even a speck of dirt on his expensive clothes.

"Go get yourself cleaned," the Marquis said when he let go of her wrist and went to wash his hands.

Even though his fingers weren't there anymore, she could still feel them around her wrist, a comforting and grounding feeling despite how sticky and crusty her skin was. She slowly started to undress, starting with the bloodied diamond jewellery that had stuck to her skin - another generous gift from the Marquis - before starting to struggle with the zipper on the back, a deep wound on her shoulder making it difficult.

Just as she was about to give up, she heard footsteps behind her, quickly approaching. She shivered when she felt one of his hands on her waist to keep her still while the other pulled the zipper down, his knuckles gently brushing against her skin.

"Such a pity," he tutted as he pushed the straps off her shoulders and let the gown fall to the floor. "I quite liked this one on you. Perhaps I'll have to get another one made."

Y/N couldn't think about clothes or tailoring at that moment; all she could focus on was how his hands felt on her body: his large, warm palms settling on her clean hips, avoiding where she was still dirty. All she wanted was for him to gather her into his arms, but she knew that wasn't going to happen until she was clean.

Just as suddenly as he'd placed his hands on her, they were gone, leaving her to finish getting undressed and step into the shower. The water was already running and steaming hot, and she welcomed the burn when it hit her skin, washing away the blood and sweat on her skin. She winced as the water cleaned the wound on her shoulder, and she turned her face to the spray, keeping her eyes closed.

She cleaned her face and body as best as she could - using products that the Marquis had bought for her and particularly liked on her - but gave up on properly cleaning her hair, letting the water rinse it as much as it could. The wound on her shoulder tugged and stung when she tried to lift her tired arms, so she settled for just trying to relax under the spray instead.

As the water cascaded over her clean skin, Y/N let her mind drift back to just hours prior, when she was out on the mission. Her post-mission showers were a ritual that let her unwind and let her mind go blank, but she couldn't stop thinking about what had happened.

She'd always loved the way Paris sparkled at night, how the lights from the Eiffel Tower twinkled on the surface of the Seine, making the cool autumn night seem warmer somehow. If she didn't have to be inside the club, she would have stayed out all night to watch the lights as couples passed her by.

Her hit for the night was the head of an underground Parisian crime syndicate, a powerful and cruel man who controlled the flow of drugs in and out of the city and was under fire for killing one of the Marquis' top men. Since this was a revenge hit, he'd sent Y/N to do the job, promising to pay her handsomely in more than one way.

She didn't have many weapons with her: a small pistol and dagger in her clutch, while another was strapped to her thigh, hidden by the emerald green gown she wore. The silk was soft and cool against her skin as it hugged her waist and cascaded over her legs, showing enough skin to make her look the part of a guest, but not enough to show the weapons she hid against her body.

Just in and out, she told herself. Don't make it personal.

The guards fell one by one as she made her way through the club, stalking through hallways and concealed entrances to find her mark, killing them all cleanly and quietly while leaving the bodies to be found later with their throats cut or bloody holes in their foreheads. She kept her wits about her, her mind sharp and her plan rock solid.

When Y/N finally reached the back office where the hit was, she slowed her breathing and walked on her toes, making sure she was as silent as possible. The room stunk of alcohol and cigar smoke, her throat threatening to constrict as she breathed it in as she approached him. His back was to her, but she could tell that he knew she was there.

"So it's come to this," he said with a sneer as he turned around. "The Marquis has sent his whore to kill me."

Y/N bristled slightly but forced her emotions down. “I am not ‘his whore’,” she said coolly, trying to keep her composure. “He sent me because I’m the best at my job.”

“Is that what he told you?” he laughed derisively. “You and I both know that once you’re done with me, you’ll go crawling back to him, legs spread and ready to choke on his cock. Do you think he loves you? You really are a stupid girl.”

“I am not a whore,” Y/N snarled as she rounded the leather sofa to face him, her dagger drawn from the garter on her thigh. She held the blade to his neck with one hand, the other gripping what little hair there was on the top of his head as she pulled it backwards. “I’ll enjoy seeing you bleed.”

“Hmm, I bet you will, slut.”

As soon as the word left his mouth, Y/N dragged the blade along his throat, slicing the skin from ear to ear as the red mist descended over her. She couldn't bring herself to try to stay composed anymore, delighting in how the blood gurgled in his throat as it spilt from the wound before she stuck the dagger in his mouth and tore the corners of his slips, carving that disgusting smile into his face forever.

Blood coated her face and arms, staining the emerald fabric red as she continued to plunge the knife into his body, over and over until she was sure that he was dead.

"Just try to call me a fucking whore now," she spat, her entire body shaking as her rage continued to simmer.

Even now, the moment played over and over in her mind. No matter how loud the shower was, she couldn't forget the way he'd spoken to her, or how he looked at her. Not even the memory of his mutilated body could calm her down. Y/N leaned her head against the wall, the tiles cold against her forehead as her body continued to shake.

"Chérie? Are you alright?”

The Marquis' voice sliced clean through the air, snapping her out of her thoughts. She turned to face him and found him closer than she'd expected, also completely undressed but dry. He looked concerned, his gaze focused on her face rather than her body, as she'd expected it to be.

"I'm fine," she said bluntly, turning her face back to the tiles. "Just tired."

"Don't lie to me, chérie," the Marquis drawled as he reached out to place his hand on her shoulder. Without realising, his fingers dug into her wound, and she cried out in pain. "Désolé, mon amour."

"It's okay," Y/N mumbled as she turned around to face him, her hand placed over his. "You didn't know."

"Did he do this to you?" He took his hand away from her shoulder to examine the wound, while his other hand cradled her face so he could look at her cheekbone, a bruise just starting to form there. Y/N shook her head. "Then something else happened."

"Monsieur-"

"No, not right now. Not when we're alone."

She paused, his name right there on the tip of her tongue, waiting to fall from her lips.

“Vincent,” she breathed, watching how his face softened at the sound of his name coming from her. “He knew about us. Everyone knows about us.”

“Is that a problem?” he asked quizzically. “I don't care if people know about us. Do you?”

“No, but I care that people are calling me a whore behind my back. And it's not just him.”

“How can you be so sure, chérie?”

“I’ve heard them, Vincent. I’ve seen the way the others look at me when they see us together, the way your staff laughs and whispers about me. Everyone knows me as the Marquis’s whore.”

She spat the word out, showing him just how angry it was continuing to make her. Vincent stiffened again, the Marquis returning once again.

“Then I shall have their eyes plucked out and their mouths sewn shut.” He brushed the bruise on her cheekbone with his thumb, his touch more tender and delicate than his words. "Nobody talks about you like that."

She bristled at his sudden, cruel outburst, it being the opposite of what she wanted to hear at that moment. Usually, she would be comforted by him being so protective of her, since he was the only person in her life who was, but it wasn't what she needed to hear.

"Can you just hold me a little?" she asked, her voice small. "Please?"

"Of course, mon amour."

As soon as he opened his arms to her, Y/N rushed into him, pressing her cheek to his chest and wrapping her arms tightly around him. She knew that her hair was still crusted with blood, and he wouldn't like that, but she didn't care. She needed to feel him properly, to know that she truly had his support and affection, that he didn't see her as just a body for him to use.

His skin was so warm and welcoming when she rested her cheek against his chest, the scent of his expensive cologne still clinging to his skin. She felt as though all of the tension in her body melted away when he returned her embrace, stroking the wet skin on her back with his large palms, but keeping his face away from her dirty hair.

From the outside, everything about their relationship was wrong; he was her employer, someone who paid her money to kill people who had wronged him, and yet in private, he showered her in affection, expensive clothes and jewels. She'd known for years that he preferred to be alone, hiring out public spaces and performances for him to enjoy in solitude, but he made a sole exception for her.

'Why you?' was a question that she heard so much that it barely affected her anymore.

Why does he always pick you? Why does he want to spend time with you? Why you?

He'd had sexual relations with other women who worked for him before - maids, secretaries, other assassins - but not to the extent that he did with her. At times, he treated her like she was his wife, but she'd never heard the words she wanted from him.

"Why me?" she wondered aloud, briefly forgetting that he was still there.

"Qu'as-tu dit?" Vincent asked, snapping her attention back to him.

“Apparently, I’m your favourite. Why? What makes me so special?”

Vincent unwrapped his arms from around her waist and brought his hands up to cradle her face, his thumb gently brushing over her bruised cheekbone again.

“You are my favourite, ma belle.” Y/N opened her mouth again to speak, but he cut her off with a finger to her lips. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not just because of your body, as lovely as it is. You are the best at your job; you have yet to disappoint me in that regard. That is why I always choose you.”

She could tell that there was something else he wanted to say, balancing on the very tip of his tongue.

“But that doesn't explain us. You could have your pick of any woman in this city, in the entire country, and you chose me. Why?”

Vincent’s eyes hardened again, as if he was annoyed by her questioning him. The only times he’d ever looked at her like that was at the beginning of her employment, when she’d dared to speak back to him after a mission got messy.

“I’m sorry, Monsieur, please forgive me for-”

“You want to know why I chose you? It's because you see me. You’re not frightened of me, you stand up for yourself, and you see me for who I am. We are more alike than you’d like to think.”

He was right. They had both come from nothing, fighting their way up through the gutters until they reached the very top, becoming fearless and ruthless in the process. Even when she’d seen him at his cruellest, she still saw that street rat who clawed his way up.

“He said that I was a stupid girl to think that you could ever love me,” Y/N said, her eyes cast away from his.

"I do not care for stupid girls," he said tenderly as he leaned into her. "You are not stupid, and I care for you very much."

"But do you love me?"

He stood back up again, towering over her as he looked at her confusedly. Had this conversation taken place years earlier, she would have fought the urge to cower away from him, but instead, she stood her ground, wanting to know how he truly felt about her.

"You think that I don't? Is what I do for you not enough?"

"You never say it, you just give me gifts and fuck me. And I'll never complain about that, but just hearing you say it is what would make me think that you do."

Her words came out harsher than she'd meant to, surprising herself. She searched for anything on Vincent's face, but he kept his expression blank. She couldn't tell if he was upset with her or confused, and it made her nerves spike. Even if he would never hurt her himself, there was always that lingering fear that he could send out orders for her to be harmed.

"I shouldn't have said that," Y/N said, her voice small but just loud enough to be heard over the shower. "I'm so-"

Her words were cut off by his hands on her face and his mouth on hers. A surprised noise crept up her throat before she relaxed into his touch, kissing him back and losing herself in him. She made another, more pleasured sound when he slipped his tongue into her mouth, gently caressing hers with it and deepening the kiss as he dropped his hands to her waist and pulled her into his body.

Y/N weakly raised her arms to circle his neck as she rose onto her toes, her shoulder tugging and stinging with each movement as she tangled her fingers in his hair, but she didn't care. She wanted to stay in his arms forever as he kissed her, tasting sugar on his tongue and smelling cologne on his warm skin.

"I do love you," Vincent mumbled against her mouth between kisses, "but sometimes you talk too much."

“Vincent,” she breathed. “Je t’aime.”

"Je t'aime aussi, mon cœur. Tellement."

She could feel her heart soar at finally hearing him say the words she'd wanted to hear for so long. They were just what she needed to soothe her tired soul and put her worries at ease. She'd known for a long time that Vincent wasn't always the best at communicating his feelings with words, letting his body and gifts do everything for him, and she felt a sense of pride in having finally dragged the words out of him.

There was a chance that she would pay for it in bed sometime soon, but that was barely a problem.

"Feel better?" Vincent asked her when they'd finally broken apart, his lips still brushing against hers. She nodded and buried her face in his chest again, lowering herself to the floor.

"Much better," Y/N said contentedly before reluctantly untangling herself from him. "My hair's still dirty though. I can't reach it properly."

"Here, laissez-moi."

She turned around to face away from him and let her mind go blank as he washed her hair for her, getting every last piece of crusted blood out of it and detangling it with his fingers, gently massaging her scalp until she almost purred like a cat. He didn't do this for her very often, so he must have truly wanted to comfort her after the night she'd had. But she had a feeling that he had more in store for her.

When he had finished helping her with her hair, her skin was starting to wrinkle, and her knees were aching from standing up for so long. She could have stayed under the water with him forever, but he could tell that he was starting to flag. Gently, he turned her back around to face him and kissed her forehead.

"Go get dry, I'll join you soon," he said softly as he stroked her face with his fingertips.

Begrudgingly, she slinked out of the shower and grabbed a towel to wrap around herself as she went back into the grand bathroom. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, bruised face and all and smirked at herself as she thought back to earlier in the night.

Stupid girl? she thought. No. I'm not. Because he really does love me.

You were having a relatively normal night, working a case and staking out a couple of vamps, when your phone buzzed with several messages from Dean. First, he asked if you were busy. Then, he asked if you were nearby. Moments later, he sent you an address to a motel. Then, came the message that caused you to leave the stakeout completely and go frantically speeding down the road.

Your tires screeched as you rounded a corner. The neon light of the motel soon appeared ahead, its reflection dancing across the many puddles on the asphalt. You pulled into the first parking spot you saw and stepped out of your car. The rain immediately soaked you to the bone, wetting your hair and your clothes, sending a chill through you, but you couldn't find yourself caring as your eyes scanned for Dean's room number.

The motel was rather seedy-looking – more so than normal. The wooden palings were splitting, and the paint was chipping off the trimmings and walls. There wasn't any other car in sight. You wondered just how bad things were if Dean had found himself in a place like this.

Once you found his room, you practically ran over to the door and threw it open, not bothering to knock. Your eyes immediately landed on Dean, who sat on the edge of one of the beds, his back to you. A wave of relief washed over you – he was alive – but the sight of his tense shoulders and the untouched beer bottle in his hand kept your anxiety simmering.

You closed the door behind you and took off your saturated jacket, leaving it next to Dean's leather one.

"Hey," you said with a sigh, "You okay?"

Dean responded with a curt nod but said nothing more. You stepped closer to him and placed your hand gently on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, and you felt a pang in your chest. When you finally got close enough, you quickly scanned his face. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual, and his normally sharp gaze was clouded with exhaustion. HIs hair was wet and spiky, and his lip trembled from the cold.

Your eyes continued to trail down to his side, where his shirt clung to his skin, dark and wet with blood. Three jagged and deep gashes spread across Dean's side. His shirt was torn.

Your eyes widened as panic once again surged through you. You frantically looked around for anything you could use to stop the bleeding. You grabbed the first towel you could get your hands on and pressed it to his side, grimacing when Dean winced in pain.

"Jesus, Dean. What the hell happened?"

"Werewolf," he gritted out.

"I think you're gonna need stitches."

There was no first aid kit in sight, so your mind began running through alternatives. You could go to the front desk and ask if there were any supplies, but asking for anything more than a simple band-aid would cause suspicion, and the last thing you needed was someone knocking on the door asking too many questions.

You could use dental floss. You had known plenty of hunters that used it in the past and not had a problem, but you weren't sure there were any needles…

"There's a sewing kit in the bathroom."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "You read my mind."

“One of my many talents.” 

----

Needle, thread, dental floss, tissues, water. You looked over the supplies in front of you, mind racing at a million miles an hour. Despite being a hunter yourself, you weren’t exactly a natural when it came to stitching wounds and performing first aid. In fact, the sight of too much blood caused your head to throb and your legs to go numb.

Dean had already taken off his shirt, leaving you to see the full extent of his injuries. The gashes started at the top of his ribs and curled around to his left shoulder blade. Blood continued to trail down his back, causing your mouth to go dry. Pins and needles tingled your toes, and the room began to spin…

You shook off your thoughts and shifted your weight between your two feet, hoping to get some blood flow back there. You put your thoughts and discomfort behind you and prepared to begin. 

“This isn’t gonna feel great,” you said, trying to control the shake in your voice. 

“Not my first time,” he replied. 

You grabbed the needle and thread, and – with shaky hands – tried your best to thread the cotton through the eye. You sat behind him, deciding to start around his shoulder. With a damp cloth, you tried your best to clean around the area, whispering apologies whenever Dean flinched. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly, using your gentlest touch to guide the needle through. 

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, “werewolf.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” you trailed off. “Where’s your dad?” 

Dean clenched his jaw, and you immediately knew you had touched on a rough subject. Throughout the time that you had known Dean, you had learnt his relationship with his father was far from healthy. John Winchester was not your favourite person in the world. In fact, you and Dean had gotten into plenty of arguments about him in the past. 

“He’s not here.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you said, continuing your stitching. “Why isn’t he here?”

“Do we have to do this–?”

“--Yes.”

Dean sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. The anger and tension radiating off him was palpable, his shoulders were tense and his breathing was heavy. You finished stitching the first gash, and tied the thread off with a neat little knot. Instead of immediately moving on to the next one, you moved around and knelt in front of Dean so you were eye level. You placed a hand on his right knee and traced gentle circles into his skin with your thumb. You raised your eyebrows, sending him a look that was simultaneously stern and empathetic.

You just wanted to know he was okay.

“We’d been stakin’ out the thing for weeks,” Dean began. “We finally pinpointed it to this boathouse. Dad was sure that it was in there, so he sent me in first to sweep the area.”

“And…?”

“Turns out it was a lot smarter than we thought,” Dean said, a dejected smile on his lips. “It was waitin’ there for us. Dad knew, but I didn’t.” 

“Then why did he send you in there?”

Dean shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. But the thing had me on the ground before I even realized what was goin’ on. Put it’s claws in me and ran.”

You shuddered. 

“Dad didn’t stay,” Dean continued. “The second he realised it jumped ship, he went too. Left me with my phone and wallet… I walked here.” 

“What?” 

If Dean’s anger was palpable, you were damn-near irate. You pressed your lips together, trying to control yourself from spewing all sorts of profanities. If you had it your way, you would have marched your way up to John Winchester and given him what for. You would have knocked his lights out if Dean had let you. 

You stood and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes.

"He – you? God!"

"Alright hot-head, calm down."

"No, I will not calm down!" You spun on your heel, turning to face him again. "Your own father left you for dead!"

"He's done worse."

You laughed bitterly. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Alright," Dean sighed, raising a hand to stop your tirade. "I'm okay! I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Oh yeah, you're the pinnacle of okay."

"Your sarcasm isn't helping."

You shook your head. Angry tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you were too stubborn to let them fall.

"I just wish you would understand that you deserve better," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You could leave his ass behind any time you like -"

"Oh yeah? And then what?"

You paused, and looked down to your feet. 

"You could come with me?" 

For half a second, Dean smiled. “You and I would kill each other in half an hour.” 

He was right – but you’d never let him admit it. 

“Why’d you text me then?” You asked. “If we’re just gonna kill one another–”

Dean shot you a pointed look. 

“– I’m serious.” You said. 

Dean stood up with a groan and walked over to you. You stood with your arms crossed, a slight frown creasing your brow. Nothing could be heard but the rain that battered against the windows and the thundering of your own heartbeat in your ears. 

Dean tucked a strand of your wet hair behind your ear, “You’re the first one I thought of… The only one I wanted here.” 

A blush crept onto your cheeks and you shook your head fondly. “You’re fantastic at changing the subject.” 

Dean winked, but his smooth-talking was soon replaced by a painful scowl. 

“Let’s finish this up later, shall we? I’d rather not bleed to death.” 

aerion who kidnaps pretty things and keeps them captive to play with until he gets bored and kills them. it starts out smaller than that, of course, in high school -- girlfriends he abuses, drugs, rapes, shuts up with threats or money or by targaryen reputation alone. it doesn't go as far as murder until later.

he uses a little cabin on the grounds of summerhall, deep into the woodlands, that used to be dyanna's haven. nobody but he and daeron have visited it in more than a decade, and it used to be the place she went when six kids and a husband who was obsessed with her became too much.

daeron who knows about it because aerion drugged and raped his first college gf when they visited after first year of uni/college. daeron passes out drunk, wakes up to aerion fucking her while she whimpers and cries. vomits, demands to know what the fuck aerion is doing, realises that aerion is staring him in the eye when he finishes, feral and grinning

the morning after she'd been confused, couldn't really remember much, did they drink that much? daeron let her believe they had, because in the moment it had been easier than telling her that she had been drugged. it was kinder that she believed they'd had sex while blackout drunk (wouldn't be the first time) than to tell her that she'd been raped by his little brother. aerion was a monster, but he was right about that much.

daeron who aerion continually manipulates into playing caretaker because he enjoys watching daeron get attached and wracked with guilt and grief but ultimately being unable to betray him.

he thinks it's amusing how pathetic and cliche it is that daeron keeps trying to protect/help/save them (he knows daeron sees their mother in them, that he's subconsciously trying to heal the wound of her suffering and death). he's pretty blind to how it's equally cliche that he's recreating dyanna's death* with a version of their mother that doesn't die until he decides they do, who can't leave without his permission, who he can vent all his anger and hurt at the abandonment onto.

he tells himself he chooses people that resemble her -- not always the look, but the mannerisms, the pattern of speech, the personality -- because it makes it impossible for daeron to resist, but... well. he lost her too.

daeron who tries to tend the wounds, bring food, and not get attached because he knows what the outcome is going to be. but he can't help himself. can't help himself because he is genuinely appalled by aerion's sadism, but also because it feels so good to be the brightest thing in someone's world. the softest, kindest, best thing. the thing that they cling to and crave.

aerion offering daeron a choice, sometimes, on days where his toys are a little too broken for rough handling -- on days where daeron tries to push back. you or them. you can get on your knees for me, you can bend over for me, you can take the pain instead. which will it be? well, beg for it, if you really mean it. beg to suck my cock, daeron. beg for me to fuck you. beg for me to hurt you. do you think they'll still see a saviour when they've seen you cum on my cock? or will they see you for what you are.

daeron knows how fucked up it is when they start to want him to touch them, to fuck them, just so they feel like they have a choice, have control of something in aerion's tiny, suffocating nightmare world. It always starts out as their attempt to win him over, to convince him to help them, but eventually that hope gutters out and they just want something that doesn't (only) hurt.

reader who's the latest victim. who might have a chance to survive because daeron's been circling the drain and aerion is worried he'll break if he doesn't give him something to hold on for. you shouldn't get your hopes up, though.

death would be kinder.