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General NSFW Headcanons: Ikemen Vampire Edition

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Jean d'Arc

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  • Your first time with Jean – a milestone – is hard-earned; as well as the soldier’s humble, gentle affections for you.

(Similar to Dazai) A convergence point in your relationship, the next step in your physical intimacy is a slow, patient trudge across a summit of hardships and questioning moments; many of which felt like a line stretched taut - too thin - but you persevered, wanting to hold this man and his heart for the rest of your shared eternity.

Coming together with Jean is intentional, thoughtful, forgiving. Like the love you hold in your heart.

His fingers, no longer carrying their share of hesitation, gentle though they are; tug apart your night gown to reveal flesh long held from sight, it causes the vivid blue of his eye to widen before it crinkles at the corner, lovingly, blinded by the beauty that is exposed with each careful drag of fabric against eager skin.

Your hands are coming around his neck to hold on, secure; firm in your desire. Jean meets your eyes. No words are exchanged. Not anymore. Not now.

Your mouths come together as swift as the assured arms that come around your waist to hoist you onto his body, carrying you back towards the bed before he lays you down. A gentle swipe of his palm across your thigh cajoles your legs into falling apart to finally let Jean catch a glimpse of the wet desire that leaves your body for his sheets.

A cool exhale leaves him on a sigh before his hands dip into the mattress on either sides of your body, head settling further down in the space you have allowed him to have, all to himself tonight.

And your cries leave you as adamantly as the mouth that plays at your entrance, worshipful; tasting your essence till you tremble with the intensity of what he does to you.

And when a smooth swing of those powerful hips finally has him buried within you, Jean’s breath leaves him on a wretched gasp of air, wrenched and stolen; the sensation of you all around him overpowering him in his entirety. Chasing your pleas with each desperate rock of his hips into you, the pleasure swells and builds till it finally lets him leave himself; body, heart and soul, within you.

  • Jean is a gentle, keen lover; punctilious in his methodical, heedful approach to sex with you.

Almost doggedly so, he is patient in his touches and preparation of your body. Your pleasure his first and foremost priority as he sinks his face into the space between your legs, lapping at you with slow, broad licks of his tongue as your thighs flutter beneath his lithesome hands, curved around the space where thighs meet ass.

The press of his fingers is gentle to hold, when your heels unconsciously dig into the sheets, the mattress. Your spine arching off the bed with a silent cry as you ripple around his tongue within your depths, sending wetness gushing forth to cling to his lips.

Flustered and guilt-stricken, when you try to apologize to him, he’s silencing your protests with a shake of his head.

“I would not be a man if I were afraid of letting myself be marked by my lady’s body in pleasure.”

Forthright, honorable; he is a man of his word, taking his duty of pleasuring his Mademoiselle very seriously.

  • You are a beautiful woman in Jean’s eyes, each and every part of you an honor he considers, to love; but if pressed to name his favorite physical attribute of yours–

Your lips are what have had Jean mesmerized since the day he met you. The words you spoke through those honest lips of yours, incapable of deceiving a soul. The mouth that found it so easy to drop a word of kindness to those you considered worthy of your compassion; as genuine as the warmth that lay buried within those hands that reached to embrace him.

But those lips. When you settle them above his head, kisses whispering of a loving heart; and he is reminded yet again: how you chose to give it to him. To entrust his unworthy hands with something so fragile, yet unnervingly brave. So precious, he did not deserve the benevolence, the solace of your love until you remind him that he does. And it is entirely his.

Jean, you are worthy of being loved.

Your kisses seem to scold in gentle tones as your mouth works above his own, tongues meeting across the pocket of warmth in between you. He lifts his head to chase after you but your mouth is elsewhere already. Branding your affection into the crescent of his neck as you grind your hips into him, moving to capture the short burst of air that leaves his mouth as soon as you do so.

His hands are at your back, softly coaxing you deeper onto him as you kiss away the soiled darkness of his heart and let him believe:

He is worthy of being loved.

  • Jean is ready to draw his rapier at the drop of a hat and doubly so, if it is to protect your ‘honor’.  

 

Arthur’s coquetry has more than once landed him at the receiving end of Jean’s glacial stare and his rapier’s even sharper point.

True, his reactions are a tad bit exaggerated when it comes to you, but when Jean stumbles upon you and Mozart by accident, one certain night and witnesses the creases that warm the edges of his friend’s eyes in soft affection, the tiniest hints of a smile playing across his lips before it vanishes just as swift when you lift your head to meet Mozart’s gaze–

Jean has his own share of insecure moments. He trusts you completely and is far more prone to drawing his weapon at men Arthur who would seek to bother you but when it is Mozart he finds standing in opposition, Jean is at a loss.

Far more sparing with words than he usually is, his mind is elsewhere when he has you in his arms, his stare focused at the top of your heaving breasts – right where your heart lies – as he thinks of how well you and Mozart seem to fit, perhaps… perhaps even better than–

“Jean?”

Your words are what strike him out of wandering thoughts, starless gaze focusing onto and taking in the worry on your face.

“It is nothing much, mon ange.” Jean whispers quietly, willing it to be true as he places his lips against your forehead.

You may not fully understand the sorrow that darkens his gaze but you inherently realize his need to be held, and so you do, pulling him down in a kiss you hope burns and sears through his worries, until all he remembers is that you love him.

And a part of Jean seems to break into that kiss, thawing, giving way until he reciprocates your feelings with a sharp movement of his hips, driving himself deeper into you. Your cries, the sweetness of sweat-soaked skin as he laves at you; all driving him closer and closer to the pleas that leave your lips.

Jean. Jean.

He believes. He lets go, finding his release within you, your walls clenching down tight as if you wish to keep his warmth within for as long as is allowed the two of you.

  •  Another thirsty one: Jean is addicted to the taste of you.

The terrible habit of letting himself hunger away till he’s absolutely parched is hard for him to let go of and so, you have taken it upon yourself to see he does not starve himself into frenzy, or worse, death.

Jean is understandably reluctant to feed off of you but when you offer yourself to him, in such trust and subjugation, in love-

Jean’s desire is flaring higher, the need for your blood stronger and so, he takes you.

He kneels at your feet, fingers a delicate circle around your ankle. The gentle scrape of fangs in kisses he lays upon your skin has you shivering in pleasure as he drags the fabric of your skirt high, higher, till his mouth has found its way onto your calf. The stray, torturous catch of fangs against your skin in preparation, his eyes meets yours when you move to sink your fingers into the silken strands of his hair and pull. Jean is drawn to you, teeth piercing skin and you moan, loud and sonorous, letting the pleasure of his mouth wash you ashore.