She Was A Storm. Not The Kind You Run From. The Kind You Chase.

“She was a storm. Not the kind you run from. The kind you chase.”

— r.h.sin

#asexual #love #story

I love your writing. If you want to, could you write something about an asexual hero x incubus/succubus.

"How come you're not trying to seduce me?"

"Excuse me?" The incubus turned to face them. He really did look like the kind of fairytale that ended up in broken hearts; too beautiful to be quite believable.

The protagonist swallowed. "How come you're not trying to seduce me?"

"...you're asexual. You're not going to be seduced by me. You're not going to be dinner."

"Some asexual people are very sex positive, I'll have you know. Big libido. All the kinky fantasies. Love all the incubi fun times."

"Are you one of those asexual people?"

"I'm just saying, it would be nice to get a bit of effort. I'm supposed to be your date tonight."

The incubus blinked.

"Just forget it!" the protagonist snapped.

"Are you feeling neglected?"

"I said forget it."

"Because I can certainly try and seduce you." The incubi's voice switched tone entirely; a rough octave drop perfect-made for silken sheets and slips. His hand pressed warm against the protagonist's waist, drawing them in, strong and sure.

The protagonist's breath caught because - well, sex was sex, but this. The electricity. The possibility. The giddy, intoxicating feeling of being the only thing that those eyes wanted to see, above everything else in the room.

The incubus could have anyone they wanted. It was stupid. It was embarrassing. They never should have said anything.

God, they wanted more of it.

They wanted the incubus to pick them out of a crowd and lead them onto the dance floor. They wanted the dips and the romance; the roses and all of their thorns.

They wanted everyone's eyes to stop skimming over them, the second they heard the word 'asexual', and they knew that was wrong but...

The incubi's lips dragged hot against their throat, pressing against the shell of their ear.

"The problem," the incubus murmured, "is that I rather like you, and I'd rather not kill you."

It snapped them out of the fantasy to - to the incubus's eyes, warm and amused and something else entirely. To the kindling-curl of the incubus's lip, dragging the protagonist's mouth helplessly up into a matching smile.

"You like me?" the protagonist managed.

"I invited you here."

"I just thought you wanted a buffer. Someone who didn't helplessly throw themselves at you."

The incubi raised a brow. "And that pique of...whatever that was...was you being totally cool and not desiring me in anyway whatsoever?"

The protagonist opened their mouth. They closed it. They wanted the floor to swallow them. "Well, I still don't want to sleep with you!"

"Well, thank god," the incubi replied. He flipped the protagonist's hand, pressing a kiss to their knuckles, holding their eyes. "Now come dance. We've got a scheme to foil, don't we, my hero?"

My hero. They could get entirely too used to that. The incubus looked like he knew that.

"You're a bastard," the protagonist said.

"Mm. And you're seduced." The incubus's grin was a wicked, entirely delighted thing.

"Such a bastard."

The incubus winked, and dragged them out onto the dance floor.

At least for the night, for five minutes, the protagonist felt like the story they'd always wanted to be.

Fake it until you make it lads

Your life is nothing but a reflection of your mind. If you want to change things, change thoughts.