#him x reader

The heavy pounding of hooves on packed dirt hung heavy in the air as the triumphant eleven galloped across the field. They were screaming, yelling and praising in worship, running buck wild. Their excitement, palpable.

On the sidelines, coaches and staff celebrated, exchanging their headsets and clipboards for burly embraces and words of congratulations.

Tonight, they were to be crowned champions. The number one college team in the entire nation and they were proud, overwhelmed and relieved– the coin had flipped on their side.

Dumbstruck and glad, Cameron’s eyes glossed over, dazzling like glowing embers. A steaming sigh breached his lips as he tossed himself around in gentle strides. He was stunned, the feeling engulfed him like a tsunami. The cool caress of its icy brine rooting down his spine.

“Oh my god…” He murmured, eyes wide like saucers, his mouth hung slack.

He held his helmet between his hands as if his head were about to combust and looked heavenward at the sky, lost for words. He’d prepared for this moment, the brutal drills on the field after hours, the gruelling sessions at the gym, the insistent lectures and the arduous tapes he had studied under the watchful eye of his head coach.

Everything, all the sacrifices he had made, had led to this exact moment.

At the last hurrah, he had done it. He had curled his fingers around the ball, feeling its cool dampness and wheeled his arm backwards. He paced his feet back hurriedly, his eyebrows softly twitching as he tunnelled in on his teammate charging down on the field, yards ahead. He exhaled slowly, eyes shut as the rest of the world dissolved around him and twisted his hips, digging his feet into the ground. He opened his eyes and quickly flitted over to the figures of blue stampeding towards him and gritted his teeth. He twirled his wrist, curling his hand upwards and bared his teeth wildly, before throwing the ball long.

It propelled in the air in a measured dance, whipped by a howling gale and pirouetted downwards into the catching hands of his receiver. He palmed it, the cowhide in his hand and pivoted aside, kicking his feet into gear.

The soles of his boots felt the earth as he ran, the charge of the light brigade near. It pumped its own rhythm, his thoughts, his desperation and the thirst Cameron had transmitted through his throw– became his lyrics. His touchdown, his song.

Cameron breathed in a good lungful of air, his mind settling at ease as he breathed out, a wide grin wreathing at his lips. He strode across the field, taking in heartfelt embraces, pats and laughs with his teammates and coaches, their joy, their relief infectious. He tossed a wave up at the crowd as they bellowed above him.

He did his best to analyse each of their faces, taking in the semblance of smiles and jeers that appeared to him as tiny specks. He clapped, giving his thanks to his forceful audience and continued down the field, wreathing through his teammates and staff alike as they celebrated.

And as he made his way towards his side of the field, Cameron caught a glance of his family above. They were sitting in the bleachers a few feet away from the sideline. His mom, his brother and his girlfriend, decked out in his school’s colours and painted with his jersey number.

“Cameron, look here! Cameron! We’re over here!” Shouted his mom. She cupped her hands around the side of her mouth, swinging her other hand in the air and pressed herself against the bannister, calling for his attention.

With bright eyes, Cameron jogged over. He stood just a foot before the bleachers, looking almost heavenward at his family.

“Hi mom– hold on!” He yelled, his voice above the crowd’s. He tugged off his helmet, almost catching his head between the cage of his face mask and chin strap, and tossed it aside, leaving it to stagger across the astroturf.

He took three strides back, cricking his head to the side and carefully flapped his arms. He waded on his feet momentarily, rocking on his heel and forefeet, and paced himself to jump. He bounced forwards, bending his knees and leapt. Clinging onto the bleachers, he hoisted himself, swinging his legs. He ascended up, scaling up the walls and palmed for the railing above, propping his foot against the base of the bleachers.

His mom let out a sharp yelp, her hands snapping to his own. “Cameron, that's dangerous!”

She peered down at him, her eyes rattling in alarm and clasped her hands around his wrists, worried he’d slip and fall.

“Mom– it’s okay. I’m fine,” Cameron soothed, peering up at her from between his eyelashes. “I just wanted to see you.” he murmured, his voice soft and silken. His eyes held a solemn, soulful look to them like those on a child yet to learn the dangers of the world.

A soft look painted over Mrs Cade’s features, her words breathy. “Cam…” She sighed exasperatedly, helplessly succumbing to her son’s whims. “Congratulations.”

She leaned over the railing just enough to press a warm and tender kiss to his hairline, bending down closer to place a kiss on his forehead, her clutch on his wrists tacky like glue.

“I’m so proud of you, baby! You were amazing out there!” She praised, her voice lilting.

“Aye man, we made it!” Drew hollered. He clambered over their mom, stretching his arms over her shoulders to grab his brother’s jersey and rustled him back and forth. He wore a toothy smile and held his phone overhead, recording.

“We’re going to the fucking league!”

“Drew!” Mrs Cade hissed. She curled her lips inward, lowering her eyebrows and squinted her eyelids, her face stern. “Cut it out! You’re gonna make your brother fall!”

“My bad.” Drew shrugged, pulling his phone close to his chest.

He shifted from behind her back and pressed his front against the balcony railing, leaning forward. He swarmed his free arm around his brother’s shoulder and angled his phone to fit both of the faces in the frame, shouting. “Tell them your Him!”

A look of carnage, his nostrils flared, his teeth snarled and bared, overtook Cameron’s features. His eyes shining with a golden twinge of light. He dropped his hand from the balcony railing, balling his fist and pounded his chest carnally, howling. “I’m Him!”

“Tell ‘em what?!” Drew jeered, screwing his face together.

“I’m Him!”

“But seriously man,” He drawled, a hint of relief colouring his tone. “I’m proud of you. You deserve this.”

Cameron’s brows drew together gently, his expression accentuating his gratitude for his elder brother’s praise. A small smile budding on his lips.

“Thanks man.” He hummed, dapping his brother up.

“Baby,” Her voice was like a gentle stream, soothing and effortlessly persuasive to the naked ear. Turning his gaze from his brother, Cameron’s eyes honed in towards his girlfriend.

She peeked out from behind Drew, slipping between him and his mother, and wore a beam, her pretty eyes flitting over his frame. He looked so attractive all sweaty and hot, his muscles taut beneath his tight uniform and his gold jewellery on show.

“Congratulations.” She cooed, placing her hand atop of his. She steered them down his arm and hovered above him, pressing her front against the railing.

A light chuckle spilled out from Cameron as he swiped his tongue across his bottom lip.

“You proud of me?” He asked, his eyes low. They flitted over her plump, glossy sheen lips, almost desperately, bating for a chaste kiss.

“Uh-huh,” She nodded, tilting her head to the side. “So proud.”

A slow, flirtatious smirk crawled across his face as he adjusted his grasp on the bannister, revving his palm against the metal piping. He tipped his head back, raising his chin and puckered his lips mischievously, beckoning (name) closer. “Gimmme some sugar.”

She leaned in, draping her hand around his shoulder to grasp his nape and pressed her lips together tightly. She closed her eyes, bracing her hand around the railing and kissed him on the lips. At the touch of his lips, mouth to mouth, her heart burst, her breath perishable. She was astonished, the force of their kiss, so rich with heart and fever. Her body sweltered under its heat, his kiss, a force of burnt radiance.

Moving his arm, he clasped her waist and pulled her in closer. Their kiss, unbroken.

He reeled her in slowly, blocking out the sirens of the world surrounding them, and clung to her, like a bee to pollen.

Enraptured in a haze of bliss and fierce passion, Cameron failed to notice his grip on the bannister falter. And under a single swipe, his hand slipped, collapsing to his hip.

He came plunging down to the ground, the force of his fall toppling (name) over him.

She let out a startled yelp, his mother and brother shrieking above, and the crowd on the stands watching in near horror as their star quarterback and his girlfriend plummet to their deaths.

Cameron faltered from the bleacher, his clutch on his girlfriend tight as he pressed her into his chest in a panic. He toppled onto his feet, standing in place for a moment before staggering to the ground, his fall cushioning hers.

Left astray on the ground, (name) atop of him, still, Cameron raised his head. A small laugh easing from his lips.

(name) lifted her head. Her mouth hung open loosely, and a look of pallor wore on her face. She stared down at her boyfriend, dismay lingering in her eyes and shot him a pointed glare, raising a brow.

“What’s funny?” She questioned, her fresh install laying tousled and ragged over her face.

But Cameron didn’t answer. Instead, he inclined closer, brushing her hair away from her face and pressed a kiss to her scowling lips.

His kisses were like little bursts of bubbles, bright and airy, and blew out between his chorus of giggles and heaves.

He kissed her, then kissed her again, placing a wet smooch to the corner of her mouth, the bridge of her nose and to the apple of her cheek. He made love to her, his hands scoring between her waist and spine in tender like licks.

(name) couldn’t deny the rush of fervour she felt pump through her blood. Cameron’s tentative touch, his sweet-like mouth, the scent of dizzying cologne and musky sweat, and the ardor that radiated from him was too much of a force to deny. So, she succumbed, melting into him as he rolled them over. Their embrace ceaseless amidst their song and dance as they tumbled across the floor, Cameron above and (name) below.

Pressing his chest against hers– Cameron’s soft lips against the bite of sugary coke on her tongue, their mouths fell sleepily together. Her doll-like pucker against his pillowly lips. He nudged their noses together, his eyelids shut and cupped her cheek. She brought her fingers up to his hair, feathering them over his short cut and curled her hand around his nape.

Lost in their lovestruck cloud, they failed to notice the pile of feet boarding around them. There were murmurs in the air, gasps, hollers and whistles. The quiet shutter of expensive cameras with highly polished lenses, clicking and whirring. Sounds gone unnoticed by the couple below.

It wasn’t until a line of voices and the shutter of a picture being taken sounded from above did their lips part, a single string of saliva following them.

“Aye man, slow down! Nobody wants to see y’all kissing like that!”

“Y’all can stop now! We get it!”

“Oooh, you guys are so nasty!”

With half closed eyes, Cameron peered up. Standing above him, stood his teammates and a ward of photographers. Their eyes honed in towards him, glass lenses and the naked eye. They wore a mixture of smiles, lighthearted grins and knowing smirks. But their eyes showed their true emotions; they glittered with envy.

He flitted his eyes down to (name), whose eyes burnt into him, her face hot with shame, and physically brightened. He looked back up at the row of players, staff and photographers before him, and smiled, displaying all thirty-two of his pearly white teeth proudly.

It was in that moment, that a camera whirred and churned its cogs, shuttering to capture this moment behind a sleeve-buffed lens. The photo, a capture of Cameron Cade, star quarterback of the year and his girlfriend, (name). Its unruliness, the lack of structure and positions was both exigent and arousing. Its rawness, its un-scriptedness and its ray, sung the beauty of a soul. A jubilant champion, his sea-foam eyes ripe with promise and glee, and strung with chords of a youthful devotion.

PHASE II.V— THE MONTAGE

Month 0

She agreed to attend Tini’s birthday dinner, though she knew she’d regret it in the morning. Tini liked to party, and when she did, she partied hard. The dinner was the cute part, she said. The pre-game before the night really began. 

Unfortunately for Selah, the pre-game was all she could attend.

She’d said as much with a shrug and a smile that wasn’t completely sincere. She couldn’t afford another hangover at the hands of her friend, the same friend who always convinced her, “What’s one more drink?”

So she found herself nursing her third and final glass of Moscato as she watched Tini mingle with her other guests, a smile on her face. The life of the party, as always, Selah thought fondly, and she loved it. 

She hummed along to the Brandy song that played in the background, something about sitting on top of the world. And just as her imaginary audience screamed at an octave higher than her own tune, that’s when she felt it—eyes on her.

Heavy, unrelenting, burning holes into the side of her face.

Selah sighed and turned her head, already knowing who she’d find. 

“You do know I’m older than you, right?” She said, one brow raised. “Maybe direct your eyes to the younger fish in the sea, yeah?”

He laughed. He always laughed—so loose, so unbothered. His arm brushed against her shoulder as he slung it over the back of her chair. Tyriq. Tini’s husband's younger brother. Handsome, charming, the kind of man who never failed to make his presence known even without saying a word. And somehow, she was always his favorite audience. 

Tyriq hummed, amused. “Why you talkin’ like you gon’ turn to dust tomorrow?”

Selah barked out a laugh before she could stop herself. This nigga…

“I’m just saying,” she murmured, shrugging. “There are other people more your speed out there.” She gestured toward the sea of women in the restaurant, all loud laughter and glossy lips.

More people who were willing to put themselves out there, she wanted to say. She wasn’t one of them. Not yet, anyway. She’d grown used to solitude. It was lonely some days, but most days, she convinced herself it was fine. 

Tyriq relaxed against the chair. He leaned in, his voice low and honeyed. “Too bad I don’t care about any of ‘em. I wanna know you.” 

The wine glass squeaked as her grip tightened around it. Her knee brushed against his as she crossed her right leg over her left to conceal the heat rising in her. She brought the glass to her nude-colored lips and took a hearty sip, then exhaled deeply.

And that was the start of the end of her peace of mind.

Month 1

He would text her first. Typically around eight. Always respectful, never too much.

Good morning, pretty girl. Hope today treats you kindly.

She told herself it was nothing—just a nice gesture from a nice man. Until she found herself checking her phone more than usual, thumb hovering over the screen by 7:58, pretending she wasn’t waiting for him. 

And when it didn’t come, she scolded herself like a child. Don’t know why you got your hopes up.

Then, the flowers arrived. Numerous in quantity and rich in a rosette hue. Not huge, obnoxious arrangements—just enough to flip her frown and have her smiling like an idiot. 

She inhaled sharply when it dawned on her. Tulips. He bought her tulips. The flower whose roots had wrapped around her heart at the tender age of eight, when she saw them in her grandmother’s garden, full of life and abundant with love; she’d only mentioned them once.

Her eyes fell on the note attached. Thinking about you. – T.

She would never admit it out loud, but she was thinking of him, too. Always. 

Month 2

"You're getting a what?" She barked out laughter into the phone receiver and spun her office chair to face the misty morning skyline. Her lips quivered; a string of giggles fought to break free.

"Is this...Judgment, I hear?" He sounded far from offended and amused, if anything, at her boisterous reaction.

Selah shook her head as if he could see her. Her now straight hair fell over her shoulders with ease.

"No," she recovered from her fit of giggles as quickly as she could and said, "just wasn't expecting a man to tell me he was getting a Brazilian wax at nine in the morning, but you do you, baby." Pause.

Then, she heard it. The Cheshire Cat-like grin she knew stretched across his face. She inwardly groaned. "Oh, I'm baby now?" And there it was.

Just as quickly as it came, her smile dropped, and she pressed her lips in a firm line. God forbid she give a man an inch and he runs a mile with it. "I can't believe I gave you my office number...over here playin’ on my line."

He chuckled. ”But was that job makin' you cut up like this at nine in the morning?" Silence.

Tyriq hummed like he was pleased. "Exactly. Anyhow, I'll let you go, since you wanna be serious this early, and I gotta get ready. Be ready around seven tonight."

Selah turned to face her desk and leaned against the headrest. Her fingers traced the loosening stitches on the armrest. Curiosity replaced her starched demeanor, and questions floated in her mind like stars. "What's tonight? What's the occasion?"

"There is no occasion," Tyriq replied. "I wanna see you. It's that simple."

Simple. What even was simple anymore? She was, she shivered thinking about it, dating a younger guy who was far from simple; far from nonchalant and borderline obsessed with her. It wasn't simple; it was intense.

"O-kay," Selah mumbled to herself more than him. "Okay. Should I wear something specific?" She glanced at her outfit—a royal blue pantsuit with gold heels—her sorority colors. It was appropriate for work-classy and sleek, and the pants made her ass look great.

She heard his keys jingle in the background. "Whatever you're comfortable in. Nothin' crazy, dinner and l'mma whoop you in go-karts. So, be ready!"

He didn't give her much time to object before he ushered her off the phone with well-wishes and kissing noises that made her want to shove the phone down his throat. But she smiled, nonetheless; something she’d been doing a lot of lately.

Maybe she could make it work. Maybe.

Month 3

The small gastropub on the corner of South and 38th had become a staple amongst her friend group. All for good reason—it buzzed with life and vibrancy, humming like a strong heart beneath soft flesh. 

Silverware scraped against porcelain plates filled with rich dishes. Low light supplied the atmosphere with a vibe that fostered relaxation and chillness. It encompassed all the group adored—strong drinks, warm food, and stellar vibes. 

Selah zeroed in on the conversation with a quiet laugh and swirled the remainder of her lemon drop martini in the glass—Jane had gone on a tangent about her new man. An electrician with hands crafted by the gods and a smile brighter than the sun on a summer day. 

“He’s everything I’ve wanted, and more,” she praised with a dreamy sigh. “Speaking of everything, how are things going with your youngin’?”

Selah’s smile dropped. “First of all,” she started. “He’s not my anything. We’re just… feelin’ each other out. Takin’ it day by day.”

God, could her nose grow any longer?

Tini raised an eyebrow, dually unamused and unfazed by Selah’s deflection tactics. “Right…” Selah blinked. “So, what’s the deal, then?” 

She felt like she was on stage—her in the center with an audience of two and a spotlight that burned a hole in her forehead and left her sweating, desperate to find an answer that wouldn’t teeter a lie, but would get them off her case. 

“He’s persistent,” Selah said after some time, eyes trained on the lemon wedge that sank to the bottom of her glass. She waved toward the server for another. “Very persistent.”

Jane ooh’d like she’d received intel from the CIA and leaned forward on her elbows. “Persistent in a good way or bad? Stop beating around the bush, girl. What’s the tea?”

Selah inhaled deeply and thanked the waiter for her drink, which she’d need fifteen more of to make it through the rest of the night. She took a small sip and winced as the tequila scratched her throat. “Good, I guess. He makes it hard to keep my distance.”

The liquor kicked in and was on the side of Tini and Jane, as Selah prepared to say more, until her phone buzzed against the black tablecloth. Her eyes flickered toward the screen. 

Tyriq: You good, baby? Don’t drink too much, I want you alert when I see you later.

Damn, whatever arrow Eros shot had her biting back a smile that was stronger than her will. Tini and Jane glanced at one another and snickered like annoying siblings. “So, that’s him?”

Selah bit her lip as her nose grew just another one, two, three inches. “Mind your business!” 

The night drive sobered her a bit, but she was still buzzing—half by the drinks, half by him. She huffed as she fumbled with the key, missing the keyhole entirely, until she remembered she shared the keypad code with him just in case. 

When she opened the door, she was met with the TV humming in unison with the AC. Her nose caught the familiar scent of soy sauce and something spicy. Takeout. 

Then, him. 

Tyriq sat on the counter, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, chopsticks in one hand, and a half-eaten carton of Lo Mein in the other. 

“When did you get here?”

Tyriq smirked, not looking up from his food. “Bout 10 minutes after you started smiling at your phone.”

She paused. Then, she laughed. A soft, tipsy laugh that echoed off the walls of her apartment. She took slow steps toward the fridge, plucking a bottle of water from the side door. She took a long sip and rested her head against the door. “Cocky much?”

“Confident,” he corrected. He abandoned his food on the counter and stepped towards her with a suave energy that reignited the buzz that started to fade. “You can admit you like me, Selah, no harm in it.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just shrugged haphazardly and smiled. Then: “Maybe, maybe not. The world may never know.”

He chuckled. His hand, once in the pocket of the gray sweatpants she loved so much, came to cup her waist, sliding around her back until it landed on the curve of her backside. “S’that right?” Suddenly, her knees weren’t strong enough to keep her stabilized in the heels that did nothing for her height, compared to his.

She was fully covered, engulfed by him—physically, emotionally, and mentally. Swarming in everything he had to offer. From his presence to his lips against hers. The water bottle fell from her grip and onto the floor with a soft crack, but it was no match for the rivers that flowed between her legs. 

This man, she thought, is gonna make me lose it. But what was wrong with loosening the grip on control? 

Month 4

“You look fine, baby,” he whispered against the shell of her ear as she fidgeted with her outfit for the umpteenth time in the restaurant’s full-body mirror. He could see it in her eyes—the remnants of fear, anxiety, and uncertainty—the uneasiness. 

“Okay, okay,” she mumbled more to himself than him, and let him guide her toward the booth reserved for the Saturday morning brunch. One foot ahead of the other, her black stilettos kissed the checkered floor, and her long legs carried her gracefully to the round table. 

“Happy birthday, man,” Tyriq whispered to his brother as they hugged. Selah gave a small wave to Tini and Jane, who sat toward the end of the table with knowing smirks on their faces. 

They settled into the cushioned seat comfortably. Conversation hummed around them from all directions, Tini announcing their upcoming vacation to Puerto Rico, her husband concurred with her excitement, and other friends and family chattered amongst each other. 

Selah engaged in a brief conversation with his parents, who glanced knowingly between the two, but settled on neutral compliments—“you look beautiful together”— to which she thanked them shyly. 

Menus in hand, Selah’s eyes scanned the options and landed on spinach & artichoke dip. “This looks good—can we share?” She shifted, the stem of her heel grazing the inside of his shin, almost accidentally, and she caught the spark that went through him.

“Anything you want,” he murmured, thumbs tracing small, delicate circles on the back of her hand. His eyes flicked to her foot that grazed his knee again, and the flex of his jaw told her he felt it. 

As they waited for their appetizers, Selah leaned into him, letting his arm drape around her waist, and it settled at her side, brushing close to her hip along the curve of her backside. Tini, across the table, raised a single eyebrow. Oh? The reaction wasn’t missed, and Selah’s cheeks warmed, but she didn’t move. She liked the closeness. 

Selah plucked the glass from Tyriq’s hand and took a small sip before setting it down. Tyriq tilted the glass just so when he sipped after her; his lips grazed the lipstick stain. A flicker of awareness fell over Tini, who let out an exaggerated cough. 

“You’re lucky,” Tyriq mumbled, chuckling low. “I could kiss you right here.”

Selah lips twitched. Their hands remained intertwined beneath the table. Her right hand slid over his thigh, her thumb circling his knee. Tyriq’s leg tensed. She took another swig of his drink, her smirk hidden by the rim of the glass. 

She looked at him as he spoke, her eyes tracing the curve of his jaw, the softness of his gaze despite the playfulness in his voice. For a moment, the world existed outside the little booth—it was just them. It was just her in awe of her man. 

Tini, of course, zeroed in on the interaction across the table. A glance at her phone and a tiny grin spread across her face. She texted: Still not your man?

Selah, hardly able to hide her grin, responded: He is, actually ;)

And she was happy with that. 

Month 5

The beginning of something deeper…her first real test of control and surrender.

-

Villes body sways as he stands in the doorway to the bedroom. He can see your messy hair and legs peeking out of the duvet. His breath comes out in heavy and ragged gasps. He can hear the blood rushing through your veins giving you life. Ville walks almost drunkenly to the side of the bed; falling to his knees gently he reaches a hand out to shake your shoulder. “Darling, wake up.” he pleads while gently shaking her. But after that proves to not do much he shakes her with more force in dire need for her to wake up. “God damn it! Babe, wake up!” He says his voice is still soft but his tone is a lot harsher.

 She groans, clearly not too happy with being woken up so abruptly. “What-” she barely gets the single word out before he cuts her off.  “Good Morning, I need to feed.” he says getting straight to the point. She breathes in and out and just stares at him blankly. “...what time is it?” She asks, sitting up in bed. She was wearing nothing more than a loose t-shirt that Ville was pretty sure belonged to him and a pair of underwear. 

Vile sights. “I don't know that right now darling. But I need to feed…please.”  He says getting desperate and annoyed simultaneously. Ville stands up from where he was crouched by the bed. He pulls off his hat and coat and toes of his converse and places them into a random pille in the corner of the bedroom. Ville then walks back to the bed where he left you contemplating his words. He sits in front of her for a moment to take in her breathtaking appearance before moving to her right side, his back sitting against the pillows. he throws his right arm around her shoulder to bring her closer to himself; he nuzzles into her neck. “Baby…may i feed.” he says his words as hypnotizing as his singing. She finally thinks it over for a moment of two. 

It was a peaceful moment of silence before she nodded her head. “Yeah, okay. Just not too much.” she says as Ville tips her head upwards to the ceiling and places a low kiss to her jaw before licking a direct line from where he had kissed to a pulsating vein. He gently pressed his lips to that spot feeling her heart beating and the blood flowing under the skin. “Kiitos rakas.” he whispers before his fangs penetrate the skin. Ville moaned as the sweet metallic taste coats the inside of his mouth and slides down the back of his throat as he sucks.

After he sucks on some of her blood he swirled his tongue around the wound almost like he was willing more blood to flow out. Villes mind had started to buzz and his body was getting surprisingly hot considering he was a vampire. He knows he has to pull away soon so he puts both of his large hands around her waist and squeezed to put his mind somewhere else. Villes hands slowly and intentionally move up her body but they come to a stop once they reach her chest. 

Ville pulled his fangs out of her neck and he squeezed her breast. “Fuck.” he moans out. Ville licks the remaining blood off of her neck. His breath was heavy once more. He could feel sweat beads falling down his neck and most importantly he could feel how tight his pants had become compared to just a few minutes ago. His cock was painfully hard and the friction from his boxers was almost something he was now considering a form of torture. 

“Shit.” he says, finally looking up at her. She was staring right at him. “What's wrong?” she asked. Her face was extremely flushed. It was clear that she was enjoying the moment just as much as him. Ville blinkes, he can feel his lashes fluttering against his cheeks. Hell he could feel everything 10 times more than a human but he could never nearly get enough of you. “Nothings wrong.” he says his voice sincere, He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, instead just looks into her lust-clouded eyes thinking of what to say. 

“Well, actually darling…” he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath in. “I've found myself rather aroused by you.” Ville profeced; and at the same time he shifted his body so his cock could grind into the side of her giving the smallest bit of relief. “Mhm.” she breathed out. She looks at him. “Well we can fix that.” she says with a smile pulling at her soft lips. 

“We could.” he says looking into her lust hungry eyes, she was so perfect. Ville looks to the clock on the desk a few feet in front of them. 2:52 Am. His eyes look back at her. One of his hands found itself tangled in her hair. He gives her hair a rather violent tug. “But i think i’d rather eat you.” he says as he sits up in the bed and crawls out from the side of her. 

Ville now sits at the foot of the bed, his body looming over her. “You really do look good enough to eat.” he says laughing to himself. Ville climbs onto her lap and pushes her down until she lays flat on her back. Once she’s laying down Villes hands glide over her clothed body until he gets to the hem of whatever shirt of his she was wearing. He grabs the hem of the shirt and slowly starts to pull it up her body, first her stomach was revealed, then her midsection and finally her chest. Ville finally removes her shirt. Her chest was heaving, almost looking like she’d just run a marathon. “Aren't you just perfect.” he says as he pulls off her underwear. 

She nods her head in agreement and to please ville; wanting to be as good as possible for both of their benefits. “Good my blood bag knows how perfect she is!” Ville praises as he rubs the sides of her thighs with his hands. “My perfect girl. With these perfect thighs; perfect blood.” he says as he leaned down and kissed her sternum, placing a few kisses and then nipping at the skin, he pulled back. “And you’ve got these pretty little things…” Ville groans in what seems to be in pure ecstasy as his pointer and thumb pinch the sensitive bud of her nipple. 

She gasps at the buzzing act. “God damn it Ville.” she whines, she hated all the damn teasing he’d put her through. Ville laughs “I know, I know, poor baby wants to be touched.” he says pulling apart her legs and looking at her cunt which was practically oozing with how wet she was. “Oh wow kulta, is this all for me?” Ville questioned. “Yes” she breathed out shakely. 

Ville smiled and got up off of her “good.” he says as he starts to unbutton his shirt. He pulled it off and let it drop cairesly onto the floor. Ville fumbles with his belt for a few seconds before uncliping it and pulling it out if the loops. He threw the belt to the ground and within an instant he was tugging off his pants. Now naked his cock rested hard against his thigh. Ville wraps his hand around it and strokes it relieving some of the built up pleasure. 

Ville groans as he forces himself to stop touching himself. Ville climbs into the bed once more; he opens her legs and lays in between them on his stomach. Ville kisses the side of her knees and up to her mid thigh. He pauses there for a few seconds before continuing. But this time instead of gentle kisses they are rough bites into the flesh of her thighs; they don't break the skin yet but they do leave a red ring of teeth marks that are for sure to bruise later. 

Ville finally gets up to the top of her thigh then he bites. “Fuck!” she cries out at the unexpected pain. Ville pulled back “your okay baby, just let me lead this.” he says before diving back down to the bleeding mark. Ville lapps his tongue around this wound a couple of times, just collecting the blood that pooled at the surface instead of sucking. After a few seconds he pulls back and blows air at the wound wanting the blood to congeal faster. 

Once the blood stops flowing at a rate Ville deemed harmful he finally decides to pay attention to your cunt. “Mhm, I don't usually like doing this…but I do love you, my girl.” he says before pressing his lips against your clit. His lips suck the sensitive bud for a moment or two before he pulls away and places his left hand on her waist. And with the thumb of his right hand he starts to rub her clit rather roughly. 

“Your so fucking good for me.” he muters as he dives down to in between your legs, replacing his thumb with his mouth again he then Inserted his pointer and middle fingers into her wet hole. Ville lets out a groan. “Oh fuck, there you go thats it.” he says his mouth causing overwhelming vibrations to her clit. 

At the same time he curled his fingers. “Ville…Ah fuck!” she moans out rather porngraphic. Ville smiles and continues to move his fingers in and out. “Come on your close arnet you kulta?” Ville says in an almost mocking tone as he stops sucking on her clit. 

She nods her head because in all honesty just Ville’s words could bring her to an orgasm. “Good girl.” he says, pumping his fingers in and out of her core with almost all of his force. Soon within what seems to be seconds for ville her inner walls start to pulsate driving ville to give it his all. Using his thumb to rub her clit bringing her over edge. 

“Fuck!” she shouts out her legs starting to shake as ville keeps rubbing. Ville watches as her legs start to shake violently until he finally pulls his fingers out of her wet hole. Ville brings the two fingers to his mouth, he wraps his tongue around them, tasting her. “Mhm… absolutely devine my darling.” he mutters. 

You stood barefoot in the kitchen, one of Ville’s old shirts draped loosely over you, sleeves rolled and collar slipping down one shoulder. The cutting board in front of you was a small chaos of basil leaves, garlic, and cherry tomatoes — a still life of summer. The faint crackle of olive oil in the pan was punctuated by the sound of a cigarette lighter behind you.

“Darling, I think you’ve outdone every Italian grandmother in this region,” Ville’s low, melodic voice drawled from the doorway. He leaned lazily against the stone archway, cigarette in one hand, wine glass in the other, wearing a black tank top and linen trousers that made him look almost… domestic. Almost.

You smirked over your shoulder. “I doubt they’d appreciate your comparison. You plan to help, or just look pretty?”

He stepped closer, grin slow and dangerous. “I thought my role was to provide inspiration. And the occasional taste test.” He reached for a tomato from the counter, and you smacked his hand with the wooden spoon before he could get away with it.

“That’s for later,” you scolded lightly. “And that’s not a taste test, that’s theft.”

Ville chuckled, brushing his hair back as he took another sip of wine. “Then arrest me, sweetheart. But at least let me pour you a glass before you begin your interrogation.”

You sighed but allowed him to fill your glass. The two of you clinked silently — a wordless toast to being somewhere far from schedules, soundchecks, and screaming crowds.

For once, he looked free. The dark circles under his eyes seemed softer in the golden light, his usual air of melancholy melting into something more human.

He watched you stir the sauce, the rhythmic motion quiet and hypnotic. “You know,” he murmured, stepping behind you, “I could get used to this. You cooking, me pretending I’m not entirely useless.”

“You’re not useless,” you replied softly, leaning back just slightly into him. “Just dramatic.”

“Ah, but that’s my job,” he whispered near your ear. “You’re the grounding one. The calm in the chaos.”

You laughed quietly, stirring the sauce again as his arm slipped around your waist, the smell of smoke and aftershave mixing with the scent of garlic and tomatoes. The world outside could wait — the band, the tours, the noise.

Tonight, there was only you, the villa, and the slow rhythm of a life that neither of you got to live often enough.

He kissed your shoulder, barely there, and murmured, “I’ll write a song about this someday.”

“You say that about everything,” you teased.

“Yes,” he admitted with a smile that reached his eyes this time, “but this one might actually deserve it.”

The evening deepened, the air outside cooling as you plated the pasta and carried it out to the terrace. The first stars blinked awake over Tuscany, and Ville followed with a candle and the bottle of wine.

Dinner, laughter, lazy conversation — and somewhere between the clinking of glasses and the sound of a nightingale, you realized that this was what peace looked like for him. For both of you.