#first person

The darkness in my room is a physical thing, a heavy, velvet blanket that smothers the faint light trying to bleed in from the street. It’s the hour before the dawn, the deepest point of the night when the world holds its breath, waiting for the sun to remind it how to exist. My own breath is slow, even, a steady rhythm that matches the lazy thump of my heart against my ribs. I’m floating, adrift in that vast, weightless ocean between deep sleep and the sharp-edged shore of waking. It’s a place I know well, a liminal space where thoughts are just shapes without form, where memories bleed into fantasies, and the line between what is and what could be dissolves like sugar in hot water.

And then… there’s something else.

A warmth. Not the familiar, trapped heat of my own body under the sheets, but something different. Something specific. A focused point of heat that’s blooming low on my belly, spreading out in slow, lazy circles like a drop of ink in water. It’s pleasant. Comforting. I sink deeper into it, letting it pull me under, my mind content to label it as just another phantom sensation of a dream half-remembered. A trick of the sleeping mind.

But it doesn’t stop. The warmth intensifies, becoming a wet heat that makes my own breath get trapped in my throat. It’s a feeling I know, one my body recognizes with an instinctual clarity long before my sluggish brain can put a name to it. A mouth. There’s a mouth on me.

My body reacts before my conscious mind does. A slow, deep throb starts in my groin, a heavy, languid pulse of blood that thickens me, makes me heavy against my own thigh. The sensation is so vivid, so real, it’s jarring. Dreams are usually hazy things, built of muted colors and muffled sounds. This… this is high-definition. This is Technicolor and surround sound. I can feel the texture of a tongue, soft and slick, tracing the sensitive skin just below my navel. I can feel the soft puff of breath against my skin, a warm, moist exhalation that raises goosebumps across my stomach and chest.

My eyes remain closed, sealed shut by the weight of sleep and the sheer, overwhelming pleasure of what’s happening. I try to grasp it, to analyze it, to pull it apart and see how it’s made. Is this a dream? It has to be. Shai’s not here. She’s next door, probably tangled in her own sheets, maybe even dreaming herself. The thought of her, of her mouth, of her hands, sends another jolt through me, and the wet heat on my skin seems to respond, growing bolder, more insistent.

The tongue moves lower, tracing a slow, deliberate path through the trail of hair that leads down from my navel. Every flick, every swirl, is a question my body is answering without my permission. My muscles tighten, my abs contracting as the pleasure coils tighter, hotter, in my belly. My hands, which were lying slack at my sides, clench into fists, the sheets twisting in my grip. I’m fighting it, trying to hold onto the floaty, peaceful oblivion of sleep, but my body is betraying me. It’s waking up, piece by piece, drawn into the light by the most insistent siren call I’ve ever known.

The scent hits me then, cutting through the haze of my own sleepy musk. It’s faint at first, a whisper on the air, but it’s there. Something floral. Lavende, maybe, but richer, deeper. It’s the scent of Shai’s shampoo, the one that smells like night-blooming flowers and summer rain. It clings to her hair, her skin, her clothes. It’s a scent I’ve memorized, a scent I’ve inhaled from the borrowed t-shirt she left on my patio chair once, a scent I’ve caught on the breeze when she’s working in her yard.

Now, it’s here. In my room. In my bed.

My heart kicks against my ribs, a frantic, heavy drumbeat that drowns out the slow, sensual rhythm of the mouth on my skin. This is more than a dream. This is a hallucination. A fever dream born of too many nights watching her, too many days wanting her, too many hours spent imagining what this would feel like. My mind is playing tricks on me, pulling from my deepest, most guarded desires to create this perfect, torturous fantasy.

The mouth moves lower still, bypassing the waistband of my briefs to press hot, open-mouthed kisses against the hard, straining length of me trapped beneath the thin cotton. A soft, breathy moan vibrates against me, a sound that’s so uniquely Shai it makes my whole body tense. It’s a small sound, a quiet thing, but it’s the key that unlocks the last of my resistance. The illusion shatters. The dream dissolves.

And the reality, whatever it is, becomes terrifyingly, thrillingly real.

My eyes flutter open, but the room is still dark, the pre-dawn gloom making it hard to see. I can make out the shape of my dresser, the darker rectangle of my closet door, the faint glow of the streetlamp through my blinds. And between my legs, a shape. A silhouette. A head of dark, tightly coiled hair, a vision I’ve had a thousand times in my mind, but never, ever thought I’d see in reality.

My breath catches in my throat, a sharp, painful gasp. I should say something. I should move. I should do something to confirm whether this is real or if I’m finally losing my mind. But I can’t. I’m paralyzed, caught between the impossible beauty of the moment and the sheer, mind-bending terror of it all.

The mouth moves again, lips pressing against the damp fabric of my briefs, right over the head of my dick. The heat is unbearable, the pressure exquisite. My hips jerk, a small, involuntary movement that I can’t control. A low moan escapes through my clenched teeth as I bite my lip, a mix of pleasure and disbelief.

Is this real?

The question echoes in the sudden, roaring silence of my mind. I reach down, my hand moving slowly, as if through water, my fingers trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation. I have to know. I have to touch her, to feel the solid, real weight of her, to confirm that she’s actually here, that this isn’t just the most vivid, most cruel dream my mind has ever conjured.

My fingers brush against the soft, thick texture of her hair, and my heart beats faster, harder. It’s real. She’s real. And she’s here. In my bed. With her mouth on me.

The pleasure builds, a slow, relentless tide that’s pulling me under, drowning me in sensation. My mind is a chaotic mess of questions, of confusion, of a disbelief so profound it’s almost painful. How did she get in? Why is she here? But none of it matters. Not right now. All that matters is the feel of her, the scent of her, the sound of her soft moans as she continues to worship me with a devotion that’s both humbling and electrifying.

I’m no longer drifting. I’m no longer floating. I’m anchored. I’m present. And I’m at her mercy.

My fingers are still tangled in the soft, dense coils of her hair, the reality of her presence a solid, grounding weight against the phantom landscape of my dream. The pre-dawn light is starting to win its war against the darkness, bleeding a soft, hazy grey into the room. It’s just enough to see, just enough to turn the silhouette between my legs into a person. A woman. Shai.

I can see the gentle curve of her back as she’s bent over between my legs, the smooth, deep-brown expanse of her shoulders, and the way her head is bowed in a posture of pure reverence. She’s not just a shape anymore. She’s flesh and blood, warm and real, and the sight of her there, in my bed, doing what she’s doing, sends lightning straight through my chest. It’s possessiveness, a caveman urge to grab her, to flip her over, to sink into her so deep that the only name she remembers is mine, and only mine. It’s pride, a fierce, swelling heat in my gut that she chose this. Chose me. It’s a desire so sharp, so potent, it feels like a physical blow.

She lifts her head slightly, her dark eyes finding mine in the dim light. There’s no fear in them, no hesitation. Just a deep, dark, hungry knowing. She sees me watching her, and she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even flinch. Instead, her hands move, her fingers hooking into the waistband of my briefs. The cotton is already damp with my own pre-cum and her saliva, a testament to the slow, patient torture she’s been inflicting on me.

Her movements are slow, deliberate. She’s not in a hurry. She’s savoring this, savoring me. She peels the fabric down, inch by agonizing inch, her knuckles brushing against my hips, her eyes never leaving mine. The cool air of the room hits my skin first, a fleeting contrast to the inferno of her mouth. And then I’m free.

My dick springs up, missing her face by inches. It’s a thick, heavy thing, a deep, dark chocolate that stands straight up, a rigid, demanding spear of flesh that’s straining toward the ceiling, toward her. The head is already leaking, a single, clear bead of fluid welling up at the slit before trickling slowly down the shaft.

Shai lets out a soft, breathy sound, a little hum of appreciation that’s almost a moan. It’s a sound of want, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. She looks at my dick like it’s a masterpiece, like it’s the answer to a prayer she didn’t even know she was praying. Her eyes trace the length of me, from the thick, pulsing root to the weeping head, her gaze filled with a mixture of awe and hunger that makes my whole body ache.

And then she touches me.

Not with her mouth. With her hand. Her fingers are soft, her touch light, almost tentative. She wraps them around the base of me, her thumb and forefinger barely meeting. She can’t get her whole hand around me, and the sight of her small hand struggling to encompass my girth sends another surge of pride through me. She holds me like I’m something precious, something holy; her touch is the opposite of what I'm feeling to the raw, animalistic need coursing through my veins.

She strokes me once, a slow, tight pull from base to tip, her thumb smearing the pre-cum around the head, spreading the slickness. A moan slips past my lips, my hips jerking upward, seeking more of her touch, more of her.

“Shit, Shai,” I grind out, my voice a low, rough growl that’s barely recognizable as my own.

She doesn’t answer. She just leans in, her dark, curly hair falling forward to curtain her face, creating a small, intimate space just for us. I feel the hot puff of her breath against my sensitive head, a teasing promise of what’s to come. And then her tongue is on me.

It’s a soft, wet flick, a quick, teasing taste that makes my whole body tense. She’s swirling it around the head, tracing the ridge, dipping into the slit to lap up the fluid there. The sensation is exquisite, a sharp, intense pleasure that’s almost too much to bear. My hands tighten in her hair, my fingers digging into her scalp, holding her in place, a silent, desperate plea for more.

She takes her time, exploring me with a methodical, obsessive attention that’s both maddening and incredible. She’s learning me, memorizing every ridge, every vein, every sensitive spot that makes me gasp and curse under my breath. She kisses her way down the shaft, her lips soft and wet, her tongue tracing the thick, pulsing vein that runs along the underside. She’s worshiping me, and I’m letting her. I’m letting her take control, letting her set the pace, letting her do whatever the fuck she wants to me.

And I’ve never felt more powerful in my life.

The decision to just let go, to stop questioning and just feel, is a liberating one. My hips begin to move, a slow, subtle rocking motion that pushes me deeper into her mouth, that meets her halfway. My hands are no longer just tangled in her hair; they’re guiding her, directing her, showing her what I want, what I need.

I can feel the shift in her, the way her body responds to my taking control. She moans around me, the vibration a deep, resonant hum that travels straight up my spine and makes my balls draw up tight. She takes me deeper then, her lips stretching wide to accommodate my girth, her tongue working me with a renewed urgency. She’s not just exploring anymore. She’s devouring.

The pleasure is building and building, a relentless force that’s threatening to pull me under. I can feel the strain in my stomach, the heat spreading through my veins, the familiar, delicious ache that signals my own impending release. I’m close. So fucking close.

But I don’t want it to end. Not yet. I want to stay in this moment forever, in this hazy, grey world where the only thing that matters is the feel of her mouth on me, the taste of her on my tongue, the sound of her name on my lips.

“Look at me,” I command, my voice a low, dominant growl.

She lifts her head, her eyes dark and dazed, her lips swollen and slick with my cum. She looks so beautiful.

“Who does this dick belong to?” I ask, the words a rough, possessive rumble.

She blinks, a slow, lazy smile spreading across her face. “Me,” she whispers, her voice a soft, husky breath that’s music to my ears. “It belongs to me.”

And then she goes back down, taking me deeper than before, her mouth a hot, wet, perfect heaven that’s determined to undo me, to own me, to make me hers. And I let her. I let her do it all.

The world narrows to the space between my thighs. The grey light of dawn, the familiar shapes of my room, the lingering scent of her shampoo, it all fades into a distant, irrelevant hum. There is only this. Only the wet, perfect heat of her mouth, the sight of her dark head bobbing in my lap, the feeling of her hands and tongue working in a perfect, devastating harmony.

She takes me deeper, her lips a tight, slick seal around my shaft, her tongue a flat, wet pressure against the sensitive underside. I watch, mesmerized, as she slowly, deliberately swallows me down. There’s no hesitation, no gag reflex, just a slow, steady descent that feels like it’s pulling my soul out through my dick. When her nose finally brushes against the skin of my pelvis when I’m buried so deep I can feel the tight, convulsive clench of her throat around me, my toes curl. It’s an involuntary reaction, a full-body spasm of pleasure that starts in my toes and shoots straight up my spine.

“Fuck,” I groan, the word a broken sound that’s ripped from my throat. “Shit, Shai… just like that.”

She doesn’t move for a moment, just holds me there, her throat working around me, her hands coming up to rest on my thighs. And then she does something that makes my eyes roll back in my head. She starts to massage my balls. Her touch is gentle, almost reverent, her fingers rolling the heavy, sensitive sac in a slow, rhythmic motion that’s in perfect sync with the tight, clenching pulses of her throat.

The dual sensation is almost too much. The wet, constricting heat of her throat, the soft, insistent pressure of her hands on my balls—it’s a one-two punch of pleasure that threatens to shatter me into a million pieces. My hips jerk upward, a desperate, instinctual thrust that pushes me even deeper, that seeks to merge with her, to disappear into her completely.

She pulls back then, a slow, torturous retreat that leaves me feeling empty, aching for her return. Her lips are swollen, slick with a mixture of her saliva and my pre-cum, her eyes dark and dazed with a pleasure that mirrors my own. She looks at my dick, at the thick, heavy length of it glistening in the dim light, and a slow, lazy smile spreads across her face.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she whispers, her voice a husky, breathless rasp. “I could look at this dick all day.”

The praise, coming from her, hits me like a physical touch. It’s a validation, a confirmation of the desire I’ve been trying so hard to keep in check. It’s a surrender, a willing admission of the power I hold over her, even as she’s the one on her knees.

“You’re the one who’s beautiful,” I manage to say, my voice a low, gravelly rumble. “Look at you. On your knees for me. Taking this dick like it was made for you.”

She moans, a low, throaty sound that’s pure music. “It was,” she says, her eyes locking with mine. “It was made for me.”

And then she goes back down.

This time, it’s slower. More deliberate. The wet sounds of her mouth fill the room, a slick, rhythmic schlick-schlick-schlick that’s the only sound that matters. It’s a nasty, beautiful sound, a testament to her skill, to her desire, to the raw, primal nature of what we’re doing. I can feel the saliva dripping down my shaft, pooling on my balls, a messy, decadent reminder of her hunger.

“You like that?” she asks, pulling off just long enough to whisper the words against my sensitive head. “You like the way I suck your dick?”

“Fuck yes,” I growl, my hands tightening in her hair, my hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm that meets her halfway. “You suck it like you love it.”

“I do,” she breathes, her tongue flicking out to lap at the slit, to taste the fluid that’s still leaking from me. “I love the way you taste. I love the way you feel in my mouth. I love the way you look at me when I’m on my knees for you.”

Her words are a dirty, delicious litany, a string of praises that stokes the fire in my soul, that makes the pleasure hotter. She’s giving as good as she’s getting, her words a mirror to my own, a shared language of desire and need.

“You take it so good,” I praise, my voice a low, dominant growl. “Such a good girl, taking all this dick. Look at you.”

She moans around me, the vibration a deep, resonant hum that travels straight up my body. She takes me deep again, her lips stretched wide around my girth, her throat constricting around me in a way that makes my whole body tense. And again, my toes curl. It’s a reflex, a physical manifestation of the pleasure that’s threatening to overwhelm me.

She notices, of course. She notices everything. She pulls back, a slow, teasing retreat, and looks up at me, her eyes dark and knowing.

“You like that, don’t you?” she whispers, her hand stroking my slick, wet shaft. “You like it when I take it all the way down.”

“Yes,” I breathe, my voice a ragged, desperate gasp.

“Good,” she says, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her face.

And then she goes back down, taking me all the way to the root in one slow, smooth motion.

I’m close. So fucking close. My body is preparing for release, my muscles tightening, my breath catching in my throat. But I don’t want it to end. Not yet. I want to stay in this moment forever.

“Not yet,” I manage to say, my voice a low, guttural command. “Slow down, baby. Not yet.”

She pulls back, her lips swollen and slick, her eyes dark and dazed with a pleasure that mirrors my own. She looks at me, a question in her eyes, a silent plea for permission.

“I wanna make you cum,” she whispers, her voice a soft, husky breath. “I wanna taste you.”

“Not yet,” I repeat, my voice a low, dominant growl. “I’m not done with you yet. I’m not done with this mouth.”

She smiles, a slow, lazy, understanding smile. She knows what I want. She knows what I need. And she’s more than happy to give it to me.

She goes back down, her movements slow, her mouth a hot, wet heaven that’s determined to undo me, to own me, to make me hers. And let her worship me. I let her praise me. I let her take control.

Something in me snaps. It’s not a violent break, but a clean, decisive snap, like a wire finally giving way under too much tension. The slow, reverent worship, the shared praises, the gentle exploration, it’s all been a prelude. A beautiful overture. But the main act is calling, and it’s not a gentle ballad. It’s a fucking symphony of need.

My hands, which have been resting in her hair, tighten, my fingers tangling in the thick, soft coils, gripping her scalp with a firm pressure. It’s not a warning. It’s a command. Her eyes flick up to mine, and in the dim light, I see a spark of understanding, of anticipation. She knows what’s coming. She’s been waiting for it.

“Enough of that slow shit,” I growl, my voice a low, gravelly rumble that’s pure command. “Time to take this dick like you mean it.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice. The slow, deliberate rhythm of her mouth dissolves into a faster, filthier tempo. Her head bobs up and down, a frantic, desperate motion that’s all about speed and pressure. Her lips are a tight, slick seal, her tongue a frantic, swirling vortex of sensation. The wet sounds of her mouth change, too. The slow, rhythmic schlick-schlick-schlick is replaced by a messier, more urgent gawk-gawk-gawk, a nasty, beautiful symphony of her hunger.

My hips take on a life of their own, thrusting upward in a slow, powerful rhythm that meets her halfway. I’m not just letting her suck my dick anymore. I’m fucking her throat. Each upward thrust is a deliberate, powerful movement, a deep, penetrating stroke that pushes me deeper, that forces her to take more of me, to accommodate my size, to surrender to the raw power of my need.

“Look at you,” I grit out, my voice a rough, guttural praise that’s laced with filth. “Taking this dick like a fucking pro.”

She moans around me. She’s trying to talk, to respond, but her mouth is too full, too busy. The sounds she makes are a series of muffled, choked-off moans and whimpers, a desperate, incoherent sounds of pleasure that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” I continue, my words a string of dirty, explicit praises that are designed to push her, to break her, to make her mine. “You like it when I fuck this throat? When I use this mouth for my pleasure?”

She nods, her head bobbing up and down in a frantic, desperate motion that’s a clear, unequivocal yes. She’s taking it, all of it, and the sight of her, the feel of her, the sound of her, is almost enough to send me over the edge.

But I’m not done with her yet.

I tighten my grip on her hair, and I pull her head down, forcing her to take me deeper, to bury her nose in my pelvis, to feel the full, overwhelming weight of me. She gags, a soft, wet, choked sound that’s followed by a desperate, hungry moan.

“Fuck,” I groan, my hips bucking upward, a desperate, instinctual thrust that pushes me even deeper, that seeks to merge with her, to disappear into her completely. “Take it. Take all of it.”

She does. She takes it all, her lips stretched wide around my girth, her tongue stretched out of her mouth, her throat a tight, constricting heaven that’s determined to undo me, to own me, to make me hers. I’m fucking her throat now, my hips moving in a powerful, relentless rhythm, my hands holding her head in place, fucking her mouth the same way I fucked her in her backyard. Raw.

And through it all, I’m still worshiping her. I’m still adoring her. My praises are a constant, a steady stream of filth and affection that’s designed to build her up, to make her feel as powerful as she’s making me feel.

“Look at you, taking this dick so good,” I praise, my voice a low, dominant growl. “Such a good girl, letting me fuck this throat.”

She moans around me, an unequivocal response. She’s lost in it, lost in the pleasure, lost in the act. And I’m right there with her.

I slow my hips, my thrusts becoming less frantic, more deliberate. I’m still fucking her throat, but now it’s a slow, deep, powerful rhythm that’s designed to draw out the pleasure, to savor every moment, every sensation.

“Not yet,” I command, my voice a low, guttural growl. “Not yet, baby. I’m not done with you yet.”

She pulls back, her lips swollen and slick, her eyes dark and dazed with a pleasure that mirrors my own. She looks at me, a question in her eyes, a silent plea for permission.

“I wanna make you cum,” she whispers, her voice a soft, husky breath. “I wanna taste you.”

“Soon,” I promised.

The word "soon" hangs in the air between us, a promise. I see it in her eyes, the flicker of anticipation, the hungry need to see me fall apart, to taste the evidence of her power. I’ve been holding back, teetering on the edge for what feels like an eternity, but the sight of her, so eager and willing, is the final push I need to let go.

“Alright, baby,” I breathe, my voice a low, rough growl that’s filled with resignation and anticipation. “You want it? You want this nut? Then take it. Take all of it.”

Her eyes light up, a dark, hungry fire burning in their depths. She doesn’t need any more encouragement. She dives back down, her mouth a hot, wet vortex of sensation that’s determined to pull me under, to drag me over the edge.

This is it. The moment of no return.

The pleasure that’s been building with heavy need finally snaps. It’s a violent, explosive release that rips through me with the force of a hurricane. My whole body tenses, my muscles locking up as I feel the power of my nut shoot through my body.

My back arches, a deep, painful curve that lifts my hips off the bed. My hands leave her hair and tighten around her head, holding her in place as I pour myself into her mouth. My hips buck, a series of powerful thrusts that push me deeper.

“Fuck! Fuck, Shai, I’m cumming!” I roar, the words a guttural, primal cry that’s ripped from my throat.

It’s a sound of surrender, a sound of release, a sound of a man who’s finally giving in to the overwhelming pleasure that’s been threatening to consume him.

She takes it all. Every last drop. Her mouth is a tight, slick seal around my dick, her throat a convulsing, swallowing heaven that milks me for all I’m worth. I can feel the hot, thick spurts of my cum pulsing out of me, a never-ending flood of release that’s both a relief and a revelation.

The taste of me is on her tongue. She swallows it all, her throat working in a series of convulsive swallows that leave me in awe.

The sound of my moans fills the room, a deep, resonant rumble that’s of release and relief. It’s the sound of a man who’s finally found home.

And then it’s over.

The pleasure subsides, leaving me a spent, shaking mess. My body goes limp, my muscles relaxing, my breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. I collapse back against the bed, my eyes closed, my mind a blank, hazy void.

I feel her pull back, a slow, gentle retreat that leaves me feeling empty, aching for her touch. I feel her move, a soft, rustling sound that’s followed by the warmth of her body as she settles beside me.

I open my eyes, and she’s there. Her face is close to mine, her eyes dark and dazed with a pleasure that mirrors my own. Her lips are swollen and slick, her cheeks flushed with a rosy glow. She’s beautiful.

She leans in, her lips finding mine in a soft, gentle kiss. It’s a slow, tender exploration, a sharing of tastes, a mixing of essences. I can taste myself on her lips, a salty, bitter reminder of what we just did, of what we just shared.

“You’re amazing,” I whisper.

She smiles, a slow, lazy, understanding smile. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she whispers, her voice a soft, husky breath that’s music to my ears.

We lie there for a long time, a tangled, sweaty, sated mess, my body still humming with the aftermath of my release. The world outside my room slowly comes back into focus: the distant hum of traffic, the faint glow of the sun as it starts to rise, the soft, rhythmic sound of our breathing.

Not a slow, gentle drift back to reality, but a violent, sudden kick, like I’ve been shoved off a cliff in the middle of a deep, peaceful sleep. My eyes fly open, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The world is a confusing, disorienting blur of grey light and familiar shadows. I’m in my bed. Alone.

The dream shatters like glass, the beautiful, perfect reality I was just existing in dissolving into a million sharp, painful pieces. Shai’s face, her mouth, her hands—they’re all gone. Vanished. The warmth of her body, the scent of her hair, the sound of her moans—they’re all just echoes, fading fast, leaving behind a cold, empty silence.

I’m breathing hard, my chest rising and falling with a frantic, desperate rhythm. My body is still humming with the aftermath of the orgasm, a lingering, phantom pleasure that’s both a comfort and a cruel tease. I can still feel her mouth on me, the wet, perfect heat of it, the tight, constricting pull of her throat. I can still feel her hands on me, the soft, insistent pressure of her fingers on my balls. I can still taste her on my lips, a faint, ghostly trace of her essence.

It was so real. So fucking real.

I reach down, my hand moving with a desperate, frantic urgency, a need to confirm the reality of the situation, to separate the dream from the truth. My fingers brush against the fabric of my briefs, and I feel it. The wetness.

It’s not the warm, wet heat of her mouth. It’s a cool, sticky dampness that’s seeping through the thin cotton of my boxers, a tell-tale sign of my own body’s betrayal. I came. In my sleep. From a dream.

The realization hits me like a sharp, painful punch to the gut. It wasn’t real. None of it was real. Shai wasn’t here. She didn’t sneak into my room. She didn’t worship me with her throat, didn’t praise me with her words, didn’t make me cum with a skill and a hunger that left me breathless and shaking.

It was all just a dream. A fantasy. A wish.

A wave of frustration washes over me, a hot, bitter tide of anger and disappointment that’s so intense it makes me want to scream. I want to punch something, to break something. I want to tear the world apart, to rip a hole in the fabric of reality and pull her through, to make my dream a reality, to make her mine.

But I can’t. I’m just a man, alone in his bed, with a sticky mess in his briefs and a hole in his heart.

I lie there for a long time, the frustration slowly giving way to a deep, aching longing. I want her. I want her so bad it hurts. I want to feel her skin against mine, to taste her lips, to hear her moan my name. I want to bury myself inside her again, to lose myself in her.

The dream was a taste, a tantalizing, torturous glimpse of what could be. And now that I’ve had it, I can’t go back. I can’t go back to just watching her from my side of the fence, to just nodding at her in the morning, to just exchanging brief, meaningless conversations over the fence. I can’t go back to pretending that I don’t want her, that I don’t need her, that I don’t dream about her every single night.

The decision is a slow, quiet resolution that settles deep in my soul. I’m going to make it happen. I’m going to make my dream a reality. I’m going to cross that fence again. I’m going to take what’s mine.

I sit up, the sticky, uncomfortable dampness of my briefs a constant, irritating reminder of my own powerlessness. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my feet hitting the cool, hard wood of the floor. I’m done with this. Done with the longing, done with the frustration, done with the fantasies.

I’m going to have her again. And I’m going to have her soon.

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AN: To anon, I might’ve gotten your vision but then i took that and ran with it so i sincerely apologize if this wasn’t when you were expecting.

This is written from 5Vergil’s pov about 3/4Vergil. So a lot of stuff might seem confusing. Just know that the parts with corny dialogue and story is about a young Vergil but being written in a journal by older Vergil. That’s what you’re reading.

Also, do you know that theory that says the doppelganger can only replicate the moves its user makes, therefore Vergil has danced like that in the past? I tried to sneak that in here and I hope you catch it cuz I love Vergil and his doppelganger <3 Anyway, enough rambling lol.

The Order Of the Sword? Humanity has been coming up with stories in regards to demons for centuries. When I arrived in Fortuna I was curious about their religious practices. They seem to worship a demon as a god, but upon closer inspection their citizens live at peace with terror. Their infatuation with demons seems to go deeper than just study, they seek the same power as I. The information I found was contradictory to what I had first assumed. They might fear demons, but at the same time, they’re obsessed with them. While traveling through alleys and roads, I was ambushed by a horde of scarecrows, it was an easy feat—but a bystander seemed to celebrate the monster's death in a manner I cannot comprehend. Such low level demons, powerless subordinates, are not worthy of fanfare.

I had a rather simple goal. To investigate without raising suspicion. My curiosity for the Order’s purpose had started to grow into something more selfish. I discovered this demon they worship is Sparda. My father. It did not take me long to make this ‘breakthrough’, the people of Fortuna seem to shout his name in prayer throughout the day. Despite the presence of my father in the entire city, I felt as if I needed more information. Have they been misled? Do they understand Sparda’s story? Their technology and weapons seemed so advanced that it could easily become ravenous. Who could ever wield such god-like weapons? Turns out those conspiracies The Order came up with were somewhat accurate. I overheard something odd while eavesdropping—that they’re creating biologically enhanced soldiers, but these ‘soldiers’ could potentially be demons themselves.

I had many questions and even while adventuring I managed to stay concealed by taking a cloak from the church when I first arrived, it seemed they could be rather generous when convenient. After a few hours, it struck late evening. I received information that barely furthered my investigation and I was getting rather uninterested. Nothing in Fortuna caught my attention. At least not quite like the lady that stood at a crossroads.

Her gaze lingered on my figure for much longer than any other mortal in Fortuna’s had. I feared she suspected I was from another realm. But when I least expected the same woman approached me. She was not afraid, she did not seek to intimidate me. I was hesitant to lower my guard but after a shake of hands she asked me one simple question.

“Are you from out of town?”

She knew. Either that or she was… interested in me? This woman and her fearless approach had me questioning myself. To her I was simply another man walking amongst other mortals. It felt oddly comforting. T’was a comfort I have not experienced in nearly two decades. She did not pry, She did not even bother asking where I came from. It seemed she wanted to lead me around. Her eagerness to give me a tour of Fortuna would aid me in my quest but… My curiosity strayed from its original purpose. All I wanted to do was follow. This would be the first time I took demands from a human.

“Have you eaten? I can take you somewhere local for dinner,” She asked. In the moonlight, her face was revealed and in that moment I knew there was no woman more beautiful than the one who stood before me that night.

“I have no use for sustenance, nor do I wish to waste my time on such mundane tasks.” When I replied I was able to sense the heartbreak in her eyes. I didn’t know at the time, but I had rejected her advances by being so straightforward and arrogant. It was not a false statement, my body does not require food to maintain the power I possess. But at the same time, I felt something in my chest ache. Could that feeling… Could it have been regret? Immediately I came up with a way to redeem myself, my words didn’t seem to aid in my new quest to pursue this woman so, I backtracked. Pathetically so. “But I suppose, if you are insisting I accompany you… I would be… Interested.”

I sounded like a fool, a complete fool. And for the first time I realize that I felt those measly human emotions I had been denying since my youth. This woman was provoking me to react in ways I’d never bothered to acknowledge.

“Of course I’m insisting, you won’t pay a dime! Don’t be so hard headed, let’s get inside before it gets any darker. A little birdie told me it’ll storm tonight.” Her words barely registered. I was lost in emotion, not to mention, her complexion. She was hidden under a white hood similar to mine earlier in the day, but up close that shadow that once concealed her face vanished. The way she spoke, not nonsensical, but metaphorical. Through context I understood her figure of speech. She was taking me on a date?

I’ve done my own research, it was a date, indeed.

When we arrived at the restaurant, this woman seemed eager to get me to try all of her favorite items. That’s when I started to wonder why I was letting my humanity take control over me. It was unlike me to be so vulnerable but even as I had the realization, I continued to play along. I was given a platter. If I remember correctly it was a kind of pasta. A meal much too large for me who didn’t have an appetite for food—but still, I forced myself to eat, this lady spent her earnings on me. I should comply with her requests, is what I thought. She interrogated me, finally. She asked questions. My name, my age, my heritage. I answered each question bluntly, but I could sense the awkward bouts of silence between my responses. I worked myself up and asked a question of my own.

“Your name?” I said, she was speaking about something but I interrupted in hopes of seeming less disturbed. “Do you have a name?”

“… It’ll be one you won’t forget, Vergil.” Had she spoken her name? Was I not paying attention? I wasn’t sure and I felt much too embarrassed to ask again. It was a shame, my body and mind were being consumed by the thought of this woman who I had only known for an hour. She had caught my eye while walking down the road but not once did I dare interact. Until now. Her name was one I wish I could've remembered forever, but my newly found desire and curiosity didn’t allow for formalities.

“I’ll remember it, I will cherish it.”

Time advanced quicker than ever before. Unbeknownst to me, that ‘little birdie’ was correct, it would storm that night. When we left she seemed worried about the (inevitable) possibility that her red gown might get wet so I handed her the cloak I was given at the church. She was blushing the whole way to shelter, it was rather unsettling—how much I enjoyed my time with this woman. I wasn’t quite sure why my chivalry made her so… excited? At first I thought I was simply being selfless for a change, but after some pondering, I look back on that moment and feel my cheeks getting warm as well.

Have I become a complete fool? It couldn’t be love. I only knew her for what had probably been three hours, but I was infatuated. Could it be that I've been starved of socialization and civilization for so long that as soon as I felt the warmth of her hand in mine, I became nothing but a fool. After the weakness I felt that day, I will only ever be a fool.

The storm didn’t seem to give, my coat was drenched and my hair had lost its style. Not only that but the cloak I provided her had already soaked up the rain and so had her dress. My ‘romantic’ gesture was pointless, but I didn’t care. Neither did she. I felt like a protagonist in a romance film. This type of night, one full of youthful, carefree moments is the one composers write ballads of. At that moment I forgot all about myself. I didn’t care about ruling the world or what Fortuna was hiding, I simply wanted the company of this strange woman.

She pranced around in the rain and all I did was watch while walking at her side. We took our time, and so did I while watching her enjoy the weather many would find unfavorable. Her soaked clothes clung to her body and I’d be lying if I didn’t admire the silhouette the damp cotton painted over her figure. I was rather pleased, so pleased that I began to wonder what use those clothes made at all. It was a terrible display of weakness—to let my mind stray, but at the same time, my objective was uncertain by that point. To prey on a woman, let alone a human woman, it should be a crime, impossible even. Perhaps I’m more like father than my powers let on.

“Vergil, how come you’re so timid? Let me show you a good time!” She shouted over roaring thunder and flashes of lightning. Suddenly my hand was in hers once again, and we danced. Even if I were to forget all about her one unfortunate day, there’d be a part of me that would never be able to forget those dance moves that are now engraved into my memory. I’ve never moved like that before. The rain was rather convenient in covering up the sweat gathering in my palms, as well. I’ve also never been so nervous, or giddy. Almost like a couple of teenagers. At my stature I couldn’t see her face well, but her body was there, and it was tempting me.

What was this emotional i felt? I sense it lingering even now white writing in this journal. I knew nothing about proper courting. I hadn’t ever been in such close proximity with a woman, let alone felt so attracted and attached in only a few measly hours of my life. I always thought humans were weak, none seemed strong enough to fend for themselves. Never had I ever imagined myself feeling protective of a woman. Especially one so beautiful. I’m at a loss for words, my repetition of the word beautiful might be too simplistic: gorgeous, perhaps stunning. Radiant, elegant. Words alone cannot describe my infatuation with her.

Now that I sit to think about it, I could go on and on for pages, I may even fill this book with works all about this woman.

I was in a trance and the only thing that managed to snap me out of it was a particularly close flash of lightning. The strike sent seismic shocks through the ground. It almost felt like the ground had fallen, rattling outdoor furniture, signs, and frightening the dancing lady who lunged towards me and wrapped her arms around me. She was trembling, soaked, and clung to me like I might be able to shield her from the rain. I didn’t know where I was, I didn’t know how to get her out of the elements. I had never had to worry about such things. I relay, but later on she’d tell me my body radiated warmth, she even said she wished she could have me as a heater in her home—whatever that meant.

“Please, let’s get inside, just until the rain’s over!” She mumbled into my chest, her eyes searching mine. I couldn’t make eye contact. I couldn’t look at her much longer. I was losing control over myself. I felt a soreness in my groin, one I'd felt before, but now that this arousal was provoked by another being… It felt different, slightly embarrassing. My breathing was unsteady, without thinking my hands reciprocated her touch and sat on her waist, arms wrapped tightly around her body.

She led me inside, one of my hands resting on her lower back as we walked. It’s forward, but I wanted so badly to take her right then. She would’ve looked even lovelier in the pouring rain, nude, her eyes on mine and mine only. Once we made it inside it became evident we were in the church again. Was this… her place of worship? I didn’t care about exploring this preposterous demonic religion any longer, although her bringing me here would’ve helped in my journey... I was much more interested in exploring her body.

The massive double doors shut with a loud, echoing bang, the sound of the rain and thunder was muted and all that was left was the air around us. “Your clothing. You’re wet, you should undress.”

She laughed in my face. Was I too forward? Perhaps. I should’ve thought it through but I was much too eager. It’d save my ego to say I was seduced, but not once did I hesitate. I needed her. I needed to feel her body. I was acting on my own volition.

“I’d tell you to take me out for dinner first but I think we’re past that. You’re right… I might get a cold,” She chuckled and looked at me with those pretty eyes of hers. I let go of her hip when she took my other hand and led me away into a room. A room that seemed to be a sister's chamber. I looked into this recently. Nuns and sisters reside in large churches like this one, although this place was more of a temple—a castle, even. The hallways seemed endless, this room could’ve easily been a spare. At least that’s what I say to myself in order to cope with the guilt of what I did in said room.

“You are… cold.” I said, watching as she wrapped her own arms around her front side and stroked her shoulders to fend off the cold air attacking her gentle skin. I had invited her to undress once already, but it seemed I was being too head on with that approach.

“Freezeing.” She said before her hands found that string behind her back, tugging until her corset went loose. She was still wearing that wet cloth draped over top of her body, but her dress was gone, she stepped out of the robes and stood before me covered only by my cloak. The shoes she wore, those heels were still standing in the middle of that dress she tossed aside. I couldn’t see her body, but the anticipation was burning deep in my stomach, branding me with a sense of lust I feel until this day. Whenever I think back to how she looked… How even the sight of her collar bones, her ankles, every flashback to that moment sends throbs down to my groin.

“Don’t you think it’d only be fair…” She approached me, her hands flew up to my face, I flinched and scowled at her, feeling those hands… It almost burned. Not because we were in a temple, not because she was human. But because I was fighting off the part of me that wanted to grab her and take control—but somehow I look back on this and feel much more content with allowing her to take the lead. The way she touched me, her finger nails, those lips moving as she spoke such serene words. She was soft, gentle, calm. She knew just what she was doing, but I did not. “If you… undressed too? You’re soaked, Vergil.”

The way she said my name made the world spin around me. The blood from my head sunk directly south and left me vertiginous with arousal. I couldn’t think, but the only thing I was able to do was obey. She dragged her nails down my chin, and goodness did that break me. Every finger over my chin and down my neck sent shocks down my spine. She undid the tie around my neck, tugging until the silk ascot was undone. She hummed contentedly while unzipping my vest.

“You… are a siren.” I groaned as soon as my chest was exposed, she caressed the planes of my midriff and looked at me with furrowed brows. Had I offended her? I didn’t know, nor did I care. I couldn’t think. All I wanted was her.

“If I was, would you still answer my call?” Her voice was poisoned with lust. I could see that vein in her neck pulsating, I could hear her heart pounding. My coat was next up, she slipped her hands under my vest, and pushed them over my shoulders. My coat and vest fell to my feet. That’s when she saw Yamato, which I had hidden under my coat. Not once during our outing did I feel the need to unsheathe Yamato, I was at ease. I’d never forgotten about her, but it’s… Out of character for me not to jump at the chance to use Yamato. She stared at the scabbard and dragged a single finger over the home of my sword. That’s when she went to tug at the sageo, undoing the knot that kept Yamato's hilt at my hip.

“I would. I’d be hypnotized.” I answered truthfully, I couldn’t believe I was allowing her to cradle my sword. Her touch was so gentle I almost expected her to bow at my feet. My skin was still damp with precipitation. As soon as my top half was bare, she dropped the cloak she wore and there she stood. Disrobed. This woman… An artist would paint her portrait on bare hide, a carver would summon her from marble. She stunned me enough with her beauty, but the way she held Yamato with such care and warmth only made me feel like I wanted her more.

“Vergil, you know… I’ve heard that name before, they preached your sentiment in this exact cathedral.” Her fingers slipped under the waistband of my pants while shoving my sword into my chest, and at that moment I didn’t listen to a word she said. Well, I was hearing her rather than properly listening. Now that I recall this moment, I understand.

I’m somehow involved in this church’s teachings? I’m not certain. Sparda seemed to be their god, yes, but they’ve somehow become aware of his sons—as well as the power the Yamato holds. She held my sword like she was some kind of artifact. She returned it to me gracefully, and the way she scanned the Yamato with her eyes… It was like she was confirming it to be the real thing.

“You’re the son of Sparda, Vergil… Show me, are you as powerful as they say?” As she spoke she undid the clasp of my belt and slipped the loose end of the snakeskin through each belt loop before finally, it fell to the ground and she began touching me over the scaly texture of my trousers. My sword was already in my hand, somehow holding my beloved sword so close only made me feel more eager to defile this woman.

I nearly jumped at the sensation. She bent at the knees then landed on the ground before me, I stood there, intensely aroused. It was humiliatingly obvious when she pulled the waist of my pants down to my thighs. She was looking for my eyes the entire time but she never found them. I was busy trying to compose myself, though my attempt would turn out to be futile. She carefully undid the four golden clasps of my boots and pulled at the inside of my knees to force them off of each foot to completely remove my trousers. Looking back on it, I had no clue what I was doing, I was driven purely by instinct. I could’ve easily found myself in a trap. How could I allow a strange woman to have her way with me… To aim directly for my heart and take all she wanted from me when she finally struck. Again, a complete fool, and one lost in a frisson—at that.

“If I’m not mistaken, You seek to prove yourself by… mating with me.” My voice was uncharacteristically gentle. She could certainly tell I was looking forward to this moment since the time she reached to shake my hand earlier in the evening. In response she nodded her head and finally touched where I needed most. “Then I—goodness—Ergh… I shall aid you in your ‘journey’.” My hands were on her immediately. When she wrapped two small fingers around my shaft and pressed her lips to the glans I let out a groan, one that sounded pathetically pleased. A sound I didn’t know I could produce during such an intimate moment.

“Mating? What are we? Animals?” She scoffed and turned her head downward, laughing to herself before continuing to work her lips. Ecstasy. The warmth of her lips around me, that hand on my thigh, the way she hummed around the tip. I was lost in the sensation. After a few tantalizing seconds she finally took me in deeper. Her whines and moans sent shocks up my abdomen, it almost felt like she was luring me in. My hips bucked forward on instinct and that’s when I lost myself in the battle against humanity. I felt the overwhelming need to use her body, to take her, to ruin her.

She was only on her knees for a few minutes when I grabbed her by a few strands of hair and pulled her onto my length completely. Her lips engulfed me inch by inch at first, but she looked much more beautiful like that, suffocating on what she could barely handle. I knew it, humans, they cannot fight their own battles. But if power is what she sought out, then she ought to fight for it. She struggled and made such pleasant noises that even when she tried pulling away I dragged her back down. Her throat rejected me at first, constricting in ways that would force me to retract, but that impulse only made me want more.

Then came the tears and the drooling, she looked like a mutt, and in reality she behaved just like one. Before she stood proud, speaking such domineering words, but then after only a few moments she sat there on her knees, a little fawn in headlights. Her saliva seemed to drip from her lips in waves. With each thrust into her throat I could feel her jaw threatening to clamp down on me, I almost wish she had. I wish she had disobeyed me so I could’ve ruined her even further. But so far, she had seemed to be rather docile.

“Good.” I groaned before pulling out from her lips. She went wide eyed and gagged before spitting out the saliva and liquid arousal that collected in the back of her throat. It dripped from her lips as she panted and it was truly a shame to see it all go to waste. If i was truly cruel I would’ve made her lap it up like a dog, but I was much more interested in what I could’ve been drinking up in that moment. “Now get up, sit at the edge of the bed.”

She got up on wobbly legs and couldn’t quite move, but to put her there would be an easy task to accomplish. I simply grabbed her by her hips, lifting her off of her feet briefly before sitting her on the mattress. She seemed surprised, like she didn’t think I'd behave in the way I did. It was silly. She reminded me of my true power. She opened my eyes back up, at first she had me hanging by strings like a puppet. I did as she asked, followed her through town—now… I wanted to leave this woman with a permanent mark, that way she would never forget what she had gotten herself into that night.

I loomed over her body, my hands on her thighs, spreading her legs while she adjusted to lean back. She wasn’t just beautiful anymore. Sexy, is it? I’m unsure but I felt the urge to devour her. Without much warning I was on my knees, staring at the folds of her vulva, glistening and twitching as my breath slowly drifted over her. Gently, my tongue glided through her slit, not going any further as to not reward her for being so… infuriating. Infuriating is the only way I can put it. All day, this woman led me to believe I might have fallen in love. I spent hours with her, talking all about some nonsense I had no interest in just to get here.

I licked at her clit, using the flat of my tongue to drag over that sensitive spot. Her thighs tightened around my head and as much as she pleaded for me to slow down, to “please” give her a moment to breathe, her body said otherwise. She held my head there against her heat until I tasted the fruits of my labor spill over my lips. She came undone in moments, her cries were heavenly, yet sinful in a place like this. I couldn’t imagine what it’d be like to have her to myself, I’d play along with her foolish games if I knew it ended like this every time. I didn’t know when to stop. I wasn’t done already, I at least knew that. I sucked on that little nub until her legs went limp around me, until her cries turned to screams, until her juices flowed in excess. Until my fingers slipped inside of her without strain and her body convulsed into another orgasm.

It’s incredible how a few swipes of my tongue combined with the intrusion of my fingers can reduce such an elegant woman to nothing but moans and pleas.

She moved to be perched up on her elbows, the muscles of her legs twitching as I got up from the ground and caged her in beneath me. Her hands tangled in my hair and pulled my face towards hers while she licked up the stickiness from my chin, lips, and nose. The erotic sensation was enough to make that ache between my legs stir up again, a throb reinforced my erection, leaving my length settled over her slit. I couldn’t help the way I ground my hips against hers. Her already overstimulated clit caught perfectly against me.

“Thank you…” She whispered weakly against my ear while I took in the view from above. Her breasts, drawn to her sides by gravity. her eyes begging me to overindulge, and the curves of her hips and abdomen. Truly a work of art.

“Don’t reward me with praise,” I purred against her forehead, pressing a gentle kiss against the damp skin. “Not yet.”

Before I could stop myself I pressed into her heat. When I felt the warmth of her wetness surrounding me I could barely hold back. The one thing stopping me from sheathing myself completely was the way she whipped her head back and made a noise that resembled a cry of pain. At first I was afraid to soothe her. My nerves hadn’t properly settled, I was afraid of the emotions I might feel if I kissed her lips but somehow she drew me in anyway. I leaned in closer and let my tongue glide over her lips before finally sinking down onto her body and pressing my lips to hers. Our bodies were pressed together, my damp skin over hers. I had already begun to slide in further, I caught each moan and whine as we kissed, feeling the hums vibrate through my head.

I could feel every twitch and contraction of her walls as I thrusted into her cunt. Every part of her was dripping with heat but then, from the inside, I felt a burning feeling I had never felt before. But I couldn’t stop, my lips were still connected to hers, sharing oxygen as if we were the only two people in this realm. Every one of her pleas landed onto my tongue.

Every part of her was drowning in desire. And I, from the inside, was overwhelmed by that sensation I tried to hold back. The instincts that I'd been cursed with, to mate. To breed and claim. I continued kissing her in an attempt to push away those thoughts. Her pleasured cries sent me spiraling, clouding my head with even more frissous thoughts, ones which I could no longer focus on without getting closer to the edge. She let go of my back and let her arms drop to the bed where she dug her nails into the sheets. When our lips parted, we remained connected by only a thick string of saliva and our sexes. My pace quickened again, the heat in my gut building up quicker than I could manage.

She moaned out my name and looked at me with such a sultry expression. I leaned forward in an attempt to chase her lips, her hands left the sheets and her hands moved back up my sides once again, making me hiss from the sudden contact. She was antsy, unable to hold still. Soon, the lady looked at me before speaking with a gasp. “Faster, go faster,” The neediness in her plea drove me insane.

I pressed my lips to her ear, “That’s not a very polite way to ask for something, is it?” I murmured, she moaned and writhed against the sheets, her voice wavering. It was so erotic, I hadn’t quite heard something so sensual before. She was filling my heart to capacity, I wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. I’d be lying if I said I didn't have to take a few breaks while writing this entry to ease my nerves.

“Please,” she begged me, “Please, sir,” the name slipped off of her tongue and I let a heavy growl erupt from my chest in response. That was a word I hadn’t expected. Nor did I expect it would make my head feel so light. The need was piling up inside my gut. She likely saw my concentration wavering as I reached my limit. It didn’t take long for me to break. I gave her what she wanted, I could feel my end coming fast from the sound of her breathless moans and cries. “Oh, God…” she moaned, but her head was tilted back, her lips were no longer on mine. I needed to taste her. I reached down to keep her face angle while bucking my hips against hers.

I could feel my own climax approaching, fueled mostly by the sound of her breathless moans and cries. “Oh—ergh, God…” she whined gain as if prayer could save her. This time I latched onto her neck instead of kissing her already swollen lips. As I leaned down and sunk my teeth into the skin of her throat, her moans were cut off and instead she growled, screamed, and whimpered. Her nails were practically attached to the back of my neck then dragged down my spine. She scratched so hard I was left with red streaks down my back which I treasured until they unfortunately healed on their own.

“I’m close—ngh! Vergil!” She groaned. When I finally broke skin, she let her head fall back, I knew there’d be no point in holding back any longer. I couldn’t help when I finally came inside. My ejaculate flooded her womb, all she could do in response was let out a long, uninterrupted sigh as I marked her from the inside. If it was power she wanted, if she sought to prove herself, then I’d leave her baring my child.

Her insides tightened around me as I filled her up and her whines turned into almost broken cries. Her legs shook under my hands and my grip had left marks where my thumbs pressed into the soft skin of her thighs. “You’re gorgeous,” I moaned as I pulled out and let myself fall over her with a sigh. My head was spinning. My entire life I convinced myself I didn’t carry even a single human gene, but as I looked at her laying there, sprawled out beneath me, I started to wonder if maybe… Just maybe I was meant to be on this plane with people just like her.

Even now, I start to question my purpose. Do I miss her? Or is this melancholy feeling simply one of anamnesis? Have I thought of her so much since that day that I cannot imagine what it’d be like to be with another? Would I ever want to be with another? These are questions to which I haven't quite answered yet, nor do I plan on answering them. I’ve strayed from my objective. The power which I seek will not be found in the arms of a woman.

It took a while for me to recover. I stood over her, pressed against her breasts for a few long minutes until I finally snapped out of that libidinous trance. Once I stood back up I did something I regret to this day. Immediately I started to dress myself, tying Yamato to my hip as soon as I got the chance, although i believe i had left my ascot behind. I got defensive, I didn’t even take the time to care for the vulnerable woman that laid on the edge of that bed.

“Vergil… Wait—You’re not leaving already, are you?” She spoke weakly. She seemed afraid. I couldn’t bring myself to soothe her. I, too, was afraid. So much so that her voice didn’t seem to reach me. I was angry. A child at war with his own ego.

I didn’t take time to reply, I just left her there. I didn’t even look back. I wish I had, I dream of her even now. I didn’t know I had it in me to reminisce on my weakest moments as if they were something to take pride in, but I can’t seem to detach myself from that memory. If there was a way to go back, to slash through time and return to that moment, even just to the final few minutes spent with her to change my perspective… I would take the chance. Even if the world moved on without me.