#but only the bright things will remain in his memory forever...

[ovaryacted]

RESTLESS

PAIRING: RE2!Leon x fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Leon wakes up in the middle of the night with you on his mind. He can't help but indulge in his desires when you're asleep next to him, but is surprised to find out that you won't let him get away with it so easily.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: 18+/MDNI. NSFW. Porn without plot. Femdom. Mommy Kink. Edging/Orgasm Denial. Begging. Degradation/Praise. Slight Somnophilia. Hint of fluff at the end. Just Leon being needy.

WC: 3.2k

NOTES: This is the first installment of my kinktober. I hope you like it, I had fun writing this and just love sub Leon. Let me know if I left out anything in the warning. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

《 Kinktober Masterlist 2023 ⟡ Main Masterlist 》

Leon couldn’t sleep.

Sure, having trouble like this was normal to him. The graphic and consistent nightmares he used to have would still haunt him from time to time. There was no remedy for that, his memories forever a mark on his subconscious that would continue to be a part of his psyche for as long as he’ll remember.

Though the reason he was up at this time was far from remembering the countless horrors he saw on that terrible night in September. The only thing keeping him up nowadays was you, the only person who can both comfort and torment him alike.

All curled up on your side, you slept as he watched quietly behind you. A bad habit he developed when you two started dating early on, waking himself up to watch over your breathing to ease his anxieties. It was a way to affirm to himself that you were real, that you wouldn’t disappear the second his head hit the pillow and he woke up the next morning.

His tired blue eyes trailed over the way your chest rose and fell with every intake of breath you took, the cotton fabric of the shirt you stole from him accentuating the shape of your breasts when you exhaled. Soft sighs would pass your lips, no sign of a dream present in your mind while your hair splayed over the pillow underneath you. Despite the sheets covering your bottom half, he could already envision the thin shorts you usually wore to bed rising up your thighs.

Leon may have woken up in the middle of the night, the alarm clock on his bedside table reading 2:15 am in bright red analog. But he was wide awake now, his mind focused on one thing. You.

Carefully, he brought himself closer to you, wrapping one of his arms around your waist and pressing his body against yours. He’s done this a hundred times over, never been a problem, but the second your hips shifted backward a quiet hum settled in his throat. He dug his nose into the back of your neck, taking in the scent of your body wash and shampoo. A comforting mixture of jasmine with a hint of white musk filled his senses, a smell that he reserved just for you, one that he’d always recognize as home.

Leon noticed you didn’t stir in your sleep, still oblivious to the developing hardness against your rear. He didn’t mean to, or maybe he did, but he couldn’t help it even if he tried. You fidgeted the slightest bit, moving closer to the warmth you felt behind you and he knew he was in trouble, the fabric of his briefs starting to feel tighter.

One of his hands moved underneath the shirt you wore, going up your lower stomach and coming towards your chest. He kneaded your breasts gently, an action he’d do at random as a stress reliever when you two would cuddle.

His thumb brushed against your nipple, the nub hardening underneath his fingertips. He felt your breathing hitch before he heard it, a loud exhale followed soon after but you remained asleep. Leon continued his groping, growing harder against your back as he moved his body to gyrate against you.

Your shorts had risen completely now, one of your legs bending at the knee and lifting higher against the mattress. His other hand twitched as it slipped between your legs, lightly cupping you against the material of your underwear. He could feel your warmth slipping through the cotton, the gusset growing moist with every pass of his fingers. The hushed grunt that passed his lips couldn’t be contained, starting to gently kiss your neck while his hands roamed your body.

His cock started to swell in his briefs, pressing himself closer so he could feel your heat seeping through the material of your panties that now clung to you. Even in your sleep, your body knew Leon was the one touching you, the familiarity becoming muscle memory as he felt you get wetter under him.

“Fuck…”, he cursed under his breath, moving your underwear to the side to feel you bare. Slick developed on his fingertips as he brushed over your pulsing clit, warm just the way he liked. He could feel your heartbeat underneath the palm of his hand from where he squeezed your breast, noticing how you grew more breathless with every pass of his hands.

He was growing lost in the feel of you, of how your pliant body continued to show him how badly you wanted him, needed him to make you feel better. Fingers growing wet with your arousal, he swears he could hear a moan slipping from your lips as your hips arched towards him.

Deft fingers moved to your entrance, feeling it clench around the idea of being filled by something. Tweaking your nipple again with intention, he ground his hips harder against your lower spine, shuddering as he did. It should be sick what he was doing, trying to get a feel of you while slept right next to him, but he didn’t seem to care. Growing flushed from the fondling, he lost track of time with his face dug in the crease of where your neck and shoulder met. He was stuck in a world of his own, getting ready to insert his fingers into your hole until he heard you speak.

“What are you doing Leon?”, your voice still laced with sleep brought him back to reality, causing him to freeze with his fingers still against you.

“Shit, I-I…”, he didn’t have an explanation for his actions, refusing to tell you how he couldn’t sleep because he just needed to feel you.

“You thought you could touch me while I slept and get away with it?”, the rasp in your voice only made his dick pulse, how you shamed him for his desires despite your body saying otherwise.

“I’m sorry. Wanted to feel you, couldn’t sleep”, he mumbled against you, hiding his face and embarrassed of his actions, but not guilty enough to pull his hands away from your body.

“What did I tell you about waking me up like this?”, you started to move now, taking his hands out of your underwear much to Leon’s dismay.

You flipped over to look at him, seeing just how flustered your lover was beside you. Even through the darkness of your bedroom, you could see the way his face blushed as your eyes met. Taking a second to trail your gaze over him, your sight was directed to the obvious bulge in Leon’s navy briefs, his shirt doing nothing to cover it from you.

“Told me not to touch you in your sleep…”

“And you didn’t listen to me, again”, you came closer to him to lay a hand on his chest, appeasing Leon’s desires even more.

“I’m sorry…just love you so much I can’t help it sometimes”, that comment made you smile, a statement you knew was the truth.

Ever since the beginning of your relationship, Leon was like a puppy, always attached and wanting to be near you. It was a comfort thing, wanting to feel you whenever he could with physical touch and quality time being his biggest love languages. He was clingy in an endearing way, and that trait carried on in the bedroom, one that you loved to exploit.

“I know baby. But now look at what you did, got all hard ‘cause I was sleeping next to you. Is this what you want?”, you leaned your body more against him, your hand caressed his chest and moved up to clutch at the hair at the base of his neck.

“Fucking please…need it so bad”, it was his turn for his breathing to hitch, looking at you with a pout that only made you want to kiss him.

“Yeah? You need mommy to make you feel all better?”, the single phrase made Leon moan, feeling you come towards his neck to kiss his throat.

“Please, I want you mommy”, a confession you’d love to hear on repeat if you could.

You smirked, laying chest to chest and tilting your head up to kiss him gently. He whimpered against you, holding your face by the jaw. Lips meshed together, your tongue quickly found his, exploring his mouth while he gladly let you. With a sneaky hand, you moved to massage the bulge hidden underneath the navy material of his underwear. A whisper for more filtered through your ears as he shuddered under you, making his cravings more intense.

“My needy baby, always so desperate for me”, you said as you pulled away from him, watching Leon nod and bite his lip.

Taking his cock out of his briefs and pulling them down until he could kick them off, you started to pump him with a quick jerk of your wrist. Thumb against his slit, the slickness of his pre-cum covered your digit, your mouth watering at the prospect of running your tongue along his body. He tried hard not to be so loud with his sounds, but the more you jerked him off, the more depraved he became.

“Woke yourself up thinking about my pussy you just had to wake me up too right?”, you were toying with him, feeling his cock throb in your hand the more you spoke.

“Yeah, just missed you, missed mommy so much”

“Always waking me up because you’re horny. Can’t keep doing this to me babe, I need my sleep”, you started to pump him faster, Leon’s fingers going towards your wrist and squeezing, signaling he was getting close. “But you’re not getting off that easily, not this time”

You stopped and pulled your hand away completely, Leon’s eyes shooting open and a pitiful whine left his mouth as you stopped stroking him. Hard cock bobbing against his lower stomach, his hips jerked in search of your touch yet you didn’t provide it.

“I’m sorry mommy, I’m sorry just fuck…please don’t stop. I’ll be good, promise”

“You said that last time and didn’t listen to me. You’re breaking your promises to me baby, that’s not what I taught you”

He pouted again, already so eager for more that he had to close his eyes and try to control his breathing. His hands pawed at your hips, grasping your body as you didn’t give him what he so badly desired. 

“I won’t do it again. Won’t touch you when you sleep. Please…I can’t…”

You sometimes felt pity for your boyfriend, how he’s reached the point of not being able to get off without you anymore. He could be insatiable in that regard, not that you complained, but seeing him this pathetic always managed to ruin your underwear more times than you could count. You knew, regardless of how many times he said he wouldn’t do it again, you’d be back in this position soon enough.

Your hand went back to stroke him, a sigh of relief passing him as his hips moved towards your fist. You kissed up his neck and jaw, nipping towards his earlobe and sucking it between your lips. Leon was panting now, fucking up into your hand and feeling you tighten your fingers around him in the way he liked. His thighs twitched underneath you, another strained moan being swallowed as you kissed him once more.

Leon’s groaning got higher in pitch, resorting to pleased hums the closer he got to falling over the edge. He was so close, so close to getting that relief he longed for all night. But the second the rope of tension was about to snap in his lower gut, your touch disappeared from him again, and he could feel himself ready to cry from frustration.

“No…no please…please stop teasing me. I need you”, he was aching now, and you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

“You gonna be good for mommy if I give you what you want?”, you took off your shorts and panties as you spoke, multitasking while Leon was stuck in a daze of his own.

“Yeah, yes I’ll be good. I’ll be good for you mommy just please, I can’t take it anymore”

At this rate, Leon would drive himself crazy with just the thought of being able to feel your cunt wrapped around him. With a grin of pure delight, you straddled his lap, bare pussy against his stiff length. That sensation alone sent trembles down Leon’s spine, grinding against your wetness. The fact that you were wet from all of this only made him want you more, pure desire written in his dilated eyes.

“Be good and let me fuck you to sleep baby”, you murmured, shifting your hips more to feel the tip of Leon’s cock rub against your clit, gasping at the contact.

You positioned yourself higher above him while holding him at the base, shifting down to slip him inside you. You hissed at the slight stretch as he filled you, having him with no prep like this would be uncomfortable if you weren’t completely soaked.

The sound that left his mouth was guttural, deep from within his chest. In any other setting, he would be completely embarrassed if someone else knew what he sounded like in bed. But god you fucking loved it, loved when he was so far gone his pleasure was unrestrained.

“Just fuck me, need you to fuck me”, he begged, fingers digging into your thighs to get you to move. His eyes were already half-lidded, breathing heavily through his nose when you clenched around him.

You lifted yourself until just the tip was inside you and slammed back down. Your hands gripped his chest, beginning to bounce yourself with enthusiasm. Leon’s hands were everywhere, growing overwhelmed with all the pleasure he felt. They kneaded at your thighs with every shift of your hips, sneaking further up your body to pinch your nipples under his shirt. Riding him like this when you were half asleep and wearing his clothes made his brain turn to complete mush.

“So good, feel so good”, his words were slurring together, thrusting back up to meet your movements.

You leaned down towards him again and arched your back as you rocked against him with more force. The change in position allowed his tip to nudge into your g-spot every time you came back down with an audible slap of skin. Sweet mewls spilled out of you, your rhythm picking up enough to make the bed creak underneath you both. Leon’s hands went towards your ass and squeezed, throat bobbing as he struggled to swallow with drool slipping past his plush lips.

“Always so good for letting me fuck you like this, such a good boy for me”, you praised him, a wanton cry filled the room followed by squelching coming from between your legs.

He was growing delirious, head lolling to the side as he lost his focus. Eyes glossed over in euphoria, you could tell he was getting close again. The insistent throbbing inside you grew more prominent the second you swiveled your hips with every bounce. Leon whimpered, praying to the higher powers of the universe you’ll finally stop edging him and let him cum the way he needed.

“I’m close, please let me cum. Fucking please…”, he didn’t even know what he was saying anymore, his orgasm at the forefront of his mind.

“You want to cum inside me? Fill mommy’s pussy up?”, he nodded dumbly at you, growing pussywhipped at your words and thrusting up into you harder to match your pace.

“Yesss. Wanna make you feel good, want to fill you up. Please, please can I?”

You weren’t too far off from your release, the way Leon spoke and cried out for you was enough for your own orgasm to crest. His thumb came to play with your clit as you moved, still having enough sense to make you cum with him. You went to pull at the hair on his scalp, forcing him to meet your eyes and order him one more time.

“Be a good boy and cum for me”

“Thank you, thank you mommy, fuck-”, he babbled as his thrusting grew more frantic.

You tightened around him, the pulsing of your walls sending him headfirst into his release. A filthy groan slipped from him, fingers holding you tightly and bottoming out inside you. Your body was filled with warmth as he painted your walls white, whining when you kept riding him until your orgasm took over your body. Your thighs shook above him, milking him dry with your face tucked in his neck and biting at his skin so you didn’t moan too loudly.

You could feel the tremors running through Leon underneath you, his breathing shaky as blonde strands of his hair stuck to his forehead. The both of you were covered in a light layer of sweat, the scent of sex filling your bedroom and surrounding you both. Lifting yourself completely off of him, you gasped at the feel of being left empty, the sensation of his warm cum dripping out of you and down your thigh.

Tired arms wrapped around your body, light kisses placed on your skin as Leon nuzzled further against you. You let him curl into you then, not saying anything when he pulled you in closer to lay down on the bed with him. Your fingers ran through his hair, feeling him sigh and rub caressing circles on your lower back.

“Can’t keep waking me up like that Leon, our sleeping habits are bad enough”, your gentle voice cut through the stillness of the room, your lover’s attention back on you.

“I know, sorry”, he gave you an apologetic kiss on your shoulder, and you accepted it like you always did. You didn’t actually care about being woken up like this, if anything a part of you liked it more than you could admit.  

“You feeling sleepy yet?”, you asked him, already knowing he’ll be asleep in the next few minutes if you continued to soothe him like this.

“Mhm, thank you. I love you”, was all he had to say really, and you gave him another smile, whispering those three words back to him.

You kissed over his face tenderly, starting at his forehead, his nose, his cheek, and then his lips. He happily reciprocated, a small smile on his face despite his eyes being closed. Throwing the sheets over the both of you again, you moved to have Leon’s head lay on your chest, his ear on the left side to listen to your heartbeat.

He was quickly lulled to sleep by the beating rhythm under him, soft snores coming from slightly opened lips. You kissed the top of his head, answering the call of sleep along with him, and mentally preparing to snooze your alarm that will wake the both of you up in a few hours.

©️ ovaryacted 2023. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

taglist: @roseglazedlens @kennedyswhore @httpsuguru @httpsvix @daydreamrot @kmt123whatsthetea @cinnarette

[iridiss]

Mystreet AU where all of the Phoenix Drop High staff are the divine warriors. MCD!Aphmau is a reincarnation of the last Irene, and she restarted the world when the final battle against Shad was going poorly, and Mystreet was created instead, with MCD!Aphmau being reincarnated into Mystreet!Aphmau. The other Divine Warriors (including the first Irene), were recycled into this school with no powers and new lives, completely powerless to the universal change that Aphmau has made. So now they’re forced to adapt to this new world and blend in, whether they like it or not, effectively trapped in this school until they can figure out what the hell happened, and somehow undo it. They all have retained most or all of their memories from their previous life. This makes staff meetings incredibly awkward

Shad is the principal, he runs this school very begrudgingly. He hates his job, but hey, he was able to lead an army in Hell! How much harder can leading highschoolers be?

Irene is the school counselor. The only one. She still has no emotions. This makes her not very successful at her job, but hey, she tries. The students are theorizing that she and the principal are divorced, or exes in some way or another, because of the incredibly grudge-filled looks they keep giving each other. They are forced to work in vague proximity with one another, and no one is enjoying it. They have to maintain workplace diplomacy and after learning what kind of world Shad is trapped in now, he realizes that he can’t actually kill her unless he wants to be arrested and thrown in jail forever. Which would suck ass, because he’s pretty certain the source of their new predicament is somewhere in this school alongside them, and if he wants any luck at getting out, he’s going to have to play along.

Irene and Shad are at least able to remain thinly diplomatic with one another. Shad and Esmund, however—never in a million years will they be civil with one another. They have gotten in very confusing shouting matches in front of the kids before. And yet Esmund never gets fired, (…i don’t think Shad has figured out that he can do that yet…) so the kids start to spread rumors that Esmund is hooking up with or used to be hooking up with the principal. Esmund and Shad find out, and all of the students get in ungodly amounts of trouble for this.

Enki tried to reconnect with his old friend Shad at some point. It didn’t go well. He left his office as quickly as he came in at the first sight of his glare.

It becomes surprisingly easy (and very existential crisis-inducing) to finally be able to tell Aphmau and Irene apart when they’re two entirely separate people standing in the same room. Shad realizes that this Aphmau is probably what caused this, but problem 1. She doesn’t remember a damn thing and is therefore extremely unhelpful, and problem 2. That’s A Child. That’s A Literal Actual Child. That’s some 13yo baby that is entirely innocent and bright-eyed and oblivious to anything and everything that went down in her past lives. And in my mind, Shad has a soft spot for children. Like, a HUGE soft spot, because he used to be a father and his daughter meant the world to him. He’d do anything to get her back and protect her from all the horrors that he could not save her from. Thats his entire villain motivation. Thats the entire reason why he hates Irene and becomes The Shadow Lord and raises an army and pillages the world and everything else. The Shad in my head would be physically incapable of hurting a child.

So I can see Shad calling Aphmau into his office very early in the first semester, ready to confront her and duel all over again…only to realize that, no, this is an separate, innocent child who remembers nothing and might even be an entirely different reincarnation of who she was before. Her memories might even be wiped, completely inaccessible and gone forever. He has an existential crisis, awkwardly apologizes and plays it off as some sort of joke, asks if she needs anything (putting back on his “I’m a normal human being” mask). She says she needs directions to her classes, so he scrounges up a random map and hands it to her and sends her off. He re-evaluates everything he’s known for the past 900 years.

Shad becoming strangely protective of 13yo Aphmau,,, this is just some kid,, he’s forced to re-evaluate everything and adjusts how he sees his students. From “oh good a new army I’m gonna have to mold from scratch /sarc” to “i…i have gone from zero children…to thousands…. thousands of children put under my care…i need to protect all of them at once” man goes mega mother hen mode, especially since his dangerous traitorous ex-wife is in the same building as them, he definitely sees her and the other divine warriors as threats to his kids.

Irene bringing Aphmau into her office as well, but she approaches things very differently from Shad. She cuts straight to the chase, and tells Aphmau she needs to remember. She’s done something terrible, and needs to reverse it and put the world back in order. She needs to remember her old life and become the newest Irene, take on all the power and the responsibility that being a Goddess entails, and set everything right. 13yo Aphmau freaks out, confused and lost. Irene lays the pressure on hard, and keeps pushing when Aphmau insists that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Shad opens the door, sensing she was here with her, and looks like he’s doing everything in his power to hold himself back from punching her square in the face. They have a very terse, carefully worded micro-argument, and Shad insists Aphmau must return to her classes, her education is more important than anything Irene has to stay to her. He gets very protective of her and basically professional-business-talk tells her to fuck right off and never speak to her again. Aphmau is still confused. He ushers her out, and awkwardly asks if she’s alright. She says…i…think…so???? What just happened??? Shad tells her to be careful around that woman, and don’t believe a word she says. She’s full of lies, anyway. Aphmau’s like. you mean the school counselor???????? It’s a very strange day for Aphmau.

insert the kids joking about how Garroth/travis/aaron/Aphmau must be related to certain members of the staff here

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 13: Heartbeat - Vampire!Steddie

Summary: The upside down had changed Steve and Eddie forever but, at least their obsession for you hadn't changed. However, instead of your sweet smiles that they craved to see everyday, it was listening to the thumping of your heartbeat.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, fluff, vampires, obsession, heartbeat kink, slight choking, threesome (f/m/m), oral (f receiving), praise kink, biting (vampire), discussion of blood, double penetration, rough sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, fucked until nearly passing out, subspace, aftercare

PSA: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. There will be some unprepared booty hole play, but that's because the characters are vampires with special abilities. This is not educational so please, if you're inclined to booty play... prep safely beforehand! (not that this is an educational fic but just need to cover myself here)

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

You were exhausted. The kind of exhaustion where your bones ached, and eyes burned even to keep them open, concentrating on the long drive home from work. All you wanted was a nice warm bath and some greasy food to fill your empty stomach, climb into your bed, and disappear into the mountain of blankets for the next two days.

Seeing your home at the end of the street brought you as much joy as a child going into a sweet shop. Parking your car and walking to the front door, your eyes were hardly open now, moving with muscle memory as to where the front steps were and fumbling with your keys to find the lock. The door opens, you stumble in, close the door behind you, and release the pent-up sigh you could feel at the very base of your core.

Before you could even step forward, a solid mass collided with you, forcing you back against the front door, an ice-cold collar around your neck as someone whispered into your ear, “Let me feel it”.

“Eddie, let me shower first”, your voice was high pitched and whiney as you slightly leaned into the body now crowding around you.

The hand around your neck tightened, but not enough to hurt; he adjusted his grip so that his thumb rested on the scar on the side of your neck and the tip of his fingers rested on your carotid artery. The lips against the shell of your ear smiled softly, “Just for a couple of minutes, please”.

As he politely asked, the tension running through your body melted into the floor. “Give me some room then, you giant bat”. The nickname earned you a dusky chuckle as he eased his solid body a step back, but his hand remained around your throat. Trying not to sigh, you gripped the bottom of your shirt, lifting it over your head until your upper body only had your bra remaining. Eddie removed his hand for a second to allow the shirt to be discarded, and then, he dropped to his knees, pressing his ear over your heart.

It was your turn to laugh as your arms wrapped around his head, holding him close as his arms settled around your waist to keep you as close as possible. Your fingers ran through his silky black hair, which, despite its softness, still managed to frizz and seem untamable as it tickled your nostrils.

Eddie hummed in contentment as he leaned against your chest, listening to your heartbeat like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

“Dude, couldn’t you have just let her get through the door first?” came the exacerbated tone of your other boyfriend. Looking up from the top of Eddie’s head, you found the silhouette of Steve at the end of the corridor, and only now, it dawned on you that you’d not even turned on the hallway light yet. The thought of the brightness of the light had you keeping it off, however, as Steve began to move forward, being purposefully slow on his silent feet not to startle you.

Eddie ignored his boyfriend's chastising voice as he only held you tighter, his fingers now stroking up and down the centre of your spine, helping to soothe any tension that remained from your day at work.

“At least he didn’t come out to the car like last time; he nearly gave me a heart attack”. Eddie smiled against your skin as you recounted the memory from last week.

Steve hummed in agreement, now standing in front of you, his feet spread on the side of where Eddie was kneeling. Raising his arm, he stroked the two areas of your neck that Eddie had when you came through the door, your scar and your artery, and then he rested his hand next to your head against the door beside you. It was an action they both had to do any time you had returned from anywhere, even if it was just the bathroom. To check that their mark was still there on your throat from when they’d both bitten you for the first time and feeling the pulse still thumping in your artery.

Once they were satisfied with this, they could continue, and most days, that was feeling for a pulse elsewhere, which was precisely what Eddie was doing against your chest. Even though they could hear it from across the room with their increased hearing, they enjoyed it a lot more when their ice-cold skin pressed directly over your heart.

You’d theorised many reasons as to why they were so obsessed with your heartbeat. For one, they had both changed and morphed into blood-sucking vampires after their recent time in the Upside Down and being attacked by the Demobats, so thirst and hunger were always priorities and hearing the organ that was the sole focus of their meal, they were obsessed. Then, there were the other reasons why they both adored listening to your heart.

Eddie once admitted that he liked listening to it because he didn’t have one anymore, so when he pressed his face against your chest like he was doing now, he could pretend that it was his own and that all the traumatic experiences over the last year hadn’t occurred. Lastly, they both admitted they thoroughly enjoyed listening to your hheartbeatbecause it was the first thing they would notice would change when you were feeling anything. Whether it was a specific emotion such as anger or joy, your heart rate would increase, or their favourite game of listening to your arousal through your heartbeat.

You didn’t mind any of them for many reasons, especially as it meant that it caused them happiness and, after everything, that's all you wanted from them.

“How was work?” Steve asked casually as he kissed your temple and leaned over Eddie, the two crowding around you against the door. You looked up at Steve, noticing how dark his eyes were even in the shadows.

Lifting your hand, you cupped his cheek, verbally confirming your suspicions, “You’ve eaten! What did you have?”

If their eyes were bright, this was the first sign of their hunger, followed swiftly by them latching to your neck like a parasite, and for once, you were too tired to be fed from today. “A deer, Eddie was kind enough to share today”. The man hummed from his position on your chest but, this time, kissed over your heart before nuzzling back into it, which caused you to shiver at the stark coldness of his skin. “You didn’t answer my question. How was work?” Steve reminded you, tilting your chin up from where you had glanced down at the top of Eddie’s head.

You groaned, allowing your head to fall back against the door, not needing to answer him verbally to show just how lousy work was. “That bad, huh?” Steve confirmed. Nodding your head, your eyes closed momentarily, just needing to feel them both.

Ice cold lips caressed your face, slow, delicate kisses, moving from your ear to the tip of your nose, making you smile and move the hand on  Steve’s cheek into his hair, which was just as soft as Eddie’s but at least a bit more tamable.

“Whatever you’re doing, she likes it”, Eddie declares from your chest as he listens to the beating of your heart increase.

“Oh, I know she does”, Steve confidently replies before pecking your lips and causing a moan at the back of your throat. Your cheeks warmed at the conversation they were both having, finding that their being able to read your body so quickly was embarrassing, especially as you couldn’t do the same for them.

“You guys are the worst”, you concluded as your lips moved against Steve’s chin. The man grinned before his hand delved into your hair, gripping it and tilting your face entirely away from his so that your neck was bared for him.

You waited with anticipation as he ever so gently kissed over your scar, which caused your thighs to clench together as arousal bloomed in your core. Eddie chuckled, “She really likes that”.

“You’re both such teases”, you say breathlessly, holding onto them tightly.

“I don’t know what you mean; I want to hear about your day at work, " Eddie says matter-of-factly, turning his head to kiss your bra directly over your nipple. Your back arches with an attempt to feel more of him, but he backs away, pushing Steve back with him until you’re left against the door with no one supporting you and the exhaustion hits you like a tonne of bricks.

You whine pathetically, rubbing your hands over your face, “I’m so fucking tired”, you say, almost wanting to cry. Eddie gives in and is back against you, but this time, he’s lifting you, one arm supporting your back and the other under your knees, giving you the space to wrap both arms around his neck and nuzzle into his jaw. Carrying you upstairs, you were more than grateful when he placed you onto the bed, removed your shoes and socks, and then unbuttoned your jeans.

It was only as he began to kiss from your ankle and up your calf that you tried to wiggle away from him, but as you sat up, Steve sat behind you so your back was flush against his chest. “Eddie, I meant what I said; I need a shower”, you explain whilst pushing on his shoulders, but he didn’t move an inch, and no amount of force would move him from his desired path. 

As he reached the inside of your knee, he explained, “Yeah, well, you’ve had a long day at work, and I want to make you feel good, and you know you taste so fucking good no matter what”. You lingered on that word, taste. It could mean many different things to him and Steve; you weren’t sure what you needed more. You were too tired to be fed on, but there were various forms of feeding; there was the kind where it was heated and dangerous from both being hungry with bright eyes. Then there was the type you asked for every day: just a little bite to the scar on your neck, a flick of a tongue against the well of blood from the wound, would send hot sparks between your legs. You weren’t sure what it was; Eddie hypothesised that there was probably some sort of horny venom in their fangs that was only produced when they were aroused, but whatever it was had you feeling more turned on than anything before.

“What did you just think about then? Your hearts racing”, Steve monitors from behind, his eyes peaking over your shoulder to stare at the area of your chest where your heart lives.

“I thought you were too tired”, Eddie mutters as he notices your body relaxing into his touch, legs spreading of their own accord as he begins his mouth journey on the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. 

“You’re both insufferable”, you concluded whilst leaning further into Steve, your head resting on his shoulder as his arms circled your waist, both legs on either side of your body as he moved more comfortably behind you, and you were now between him.

“I don’t know what you could mean, Baby; we’re just trying to look after you”. As Steve talks, his fingers ghost up the sides of your ribs, causing a deep shiver to run through your entire body, pebbling your nipples, which were still contained by your bra. Eddie grinned up at Steve as they knew how your body was reacting: breaths becoming more erratic, blood warming your skin, which contrasted with their ice-cold vampire skin and the wetness now gathering in your underwear.

Even in the darkness, you could see the pure joy on his face as he moved closer to your cunt. Obsenly, he pressed his nose into your underwear-covered mound and breathed in deeply, which he liked to do when he wanted the scent to stay in his nose, considering he didn’t need to breathe. Your cheeks were burning at Eddie, a little self-conscious that he’d done this before you could shower, but he always said that he preferred the natural scent of you compared to whatever floral body wash you planned to use.

Eddie groans deeply, his fingers flexing on your thighs as he pushes them back as far as possible, giving him a better angle for your pussy. “Eddie, please don’t destroy-” your words are interrupted by the very noticeable noise of material ripping as his fangs catch the edge of your underwear, tearing them.

“Oops, sorry”, he sounded anything but sorry as he now looked at your cunt, something he could see perfectly with his not human eyesight. Pressing one arm on your abdomen, the other rested over your heart for extra clarity as his tongue licked up the length of your pussy.

You gasped as your head rolled back further against Steve, who in turn was reaching up to hold your throat, dipping his face to follow the journey of his fingers. Each of your hands found a boyfriend’s head, holding Eddie between your legs and nuzzling Steve’s face further against your neck. Your eyes are closed to concentrate on all the sensations going through your body.

They were both rock solid and cold, like two moving statues; even Eddie’s tongue was cold, and only their fangs held any warmth, but this was because of whatever venom dripped from within.

This, right here, is what you needed more than the food, shower and bed. Having the two men who you loved more than anything, despite the difficulties that came with having two monsters in the house, they always knew just what you needed, and right now, you needed to forget about everything from work and relax.

With his tongue, Eddie applied more pressure, parting your folds so he could lather and drink the juices beginning to seep out of your hole. He teased your entrance, circling it before stretching it with the thickness of his tongue, delving it deeper until you were rocking your hips against his face, pushing his nose over your sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. Eddie stayed still, allowing you to fuck yourself on his tongue, getting yourself off as he concentrated on the feeling of your heartbeat from the tip of his tongue inside your cunt, comparing it to the pounding against his hand on your chest.

It beat harder with each passing moment as you exerted yourself with the hip movements and found your arousal getting deeper. Eddie groans roughly, his hips thrusting lazily into the bed to try and find some friction against his raging boner trapped in his jeans. Steve was enjoying it just as much, especially as his cock was rubbing against your back as he, too, counted each beat of your heart.

“Eddie, please don’t stop”, you moaned whilst holding onto his head to the point that it would have been painful to anyone else but him. Eddie smirked but stayed entirely still. He loved seeing this side of you, he’d hardly even touched you, and you were going completely insane on his tongue, fucking yourself as he stayed utterly still like he was your own personal sex toy.

Steve then added to this by licking over the scar on your neck, and it sent a burning jolt of pleasure through your core, causing your cunt to tighten and squeeze Eddie’s tongue as you came with rocking shakes.

“That’s a good girl, just like that, Baby. Keep riding Eddie’s tongue through it; well done,” Steve praised as he remained by your ear, watching and feeling your body tremble through the orgasm. 

After a few seconds, you collapsed further into Steve, trying to catch your breath with desperate sucks of air.

“I want you”, came your desperate plead, still holding a grip in both of their hairs.

“Who are you talking to, Sweetheart?” Eddie asked, kissing the inside of your thighs as you tried to calm yourself, feeling the beating against his palm slowly and reducing in intensity.

“Both of you, I want both of you inside of me right now”, you demanded without thinking of the consequences.

“Honey, we need to make sure you’re prepped, okay? Let’s just take this slowly.” Steve began to talk you through the options, but you could also feel him smirking as he spoke, knowing there was a much easier and quicker way for you to get what you wanted.

Turning your head to look at Steve, you could see with a bit more clarity as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. “Just bite me. I don’t want to wait; I want to feel you both now”.

“Are you sure? You said last time that we should probably give yourself a break from-”

“Steve, if you don’t fuck me right now,  I’m going to ban you from this house, and Eddie can have all the fun”. Even though your tone was serious, Steve knew you would never do this. Your boyfriends absolutely loved it when you became so aroused that all coherent thoughts disappeared.

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” Steve agreed, looking down at Eddie, who was beginning to rise onto his knees and undo the belt of his jeans. You and Steve watched as your boyfriend pushed the offending material with his underwear down his hips and off his long, tattooed legs. Just as his shirt was being pulled over his head, did you rush forward, arms around his neck and mouth on his.

The kiss had to be careful; even though you wanted to be heated and passionate, he had to keep his wits about him because of his sharp fangs. Carefully, he rolled the two of you over, so now Eddie was lying on the bed with you straddling his thighs, his impressive cock twitching against his abdomen. Your lips were still pressed against his as your fingers explored his chest, feeling the fine hair that layered over the top of his chest, covering the few tattoos that he had there.

His hands were now on your waist, feeling your flesh and pulling your hips closer until your cunt was flush against the length of his cock. Your hips automatically bucked at the sensation of his cold shaft. It had taken some adjustment to fuck something so cold, but now, you craved it more than anything else, the coolness making you feel more alive than anything else.

You didn’t want to wait, couldn’t waste another second without feeling his cock inside of you, so reaching down, you aligned the tip with your hole and carefully lowered yourself. Your walls fluttered around his length at both the stretch and the temperature. Eddie groaned, his fingers flexing on your hips, like he wanted to squeeze harder but knew that if he did, his increased strength would accidentally hurt you, so he tried to refrain, even though all he wanted to do was hold you as close as possible and fuck you until sunrise.

Once his cock was pushed as deep as it could go, did you finally lie your body flat against his chest, feeling no heartbeat at all, which had been incredibly unnerving at first, but now you were used to it. Looking over your shoulder, you tried to perk your arse up to Steve, who was now standing beside the bed, completely nude and having moved with unnatural quiet.

“Room for one more”, you say whilst subtly shaking your hips with Eddie’s cock still inside you.

Steve smirked, his eyes so dark they appeared black in the darkness, giving him a haunting look. Still, as his fist wrapped around his cock, pumping it a few times, this only caused your arousal to increase, which in turn, caused your heart to beat harder and Eddie to moan so dramatically he might as well have just cum.

“Hey, big boy, if you keep teasing her like this, she’s going to cum before the fun even begins”, Eddie demanded, looking at Steve was exacerbation.

Steve looked between his two lovers before finally crawling onto the bed and settling behind you. He cupped your arse cheek with a single hand, spreading it slightly to give him a better view of his intended goal. “Are you sure you don’t want me to prep you?” Steve asked for confirmation but already knew your answer.

Titling your head, you exposed the scared side of your neck, “Please just take me, I don’t want to wait”.

“Come here then, Baby”. He helps you to sit back up so that your back is flush against his chest and his mouth is next to the column of your throat. His hand appeared before your face as he demanded, “Spit”.

Lewdly, you spat onto his fingertips, which he then used to lube the tip of his cock before moving it to your puckered asshole. He pressed it enough that it began to stretch the slightest bit but then didn’t move any further as his mouth latched to your neck.

Your entire body was buzzing with anticipation, knowing what feeling was coming next, wanting it so bad that you could have cried.

As Eddie rested his hand over your heart, Steve cradled the other side of your face and bit his fangs into your neck as he fucked his cock into you at an agonisingly slow pace. As his sharp fangs pierced your skin, the juice within them entered your bloodstream, and it was one of the most euphoric feelings you could ever experience. It was almost as if every single nerve on your body was being caressed with arousal, burning with passion, and because of this, every area that hurt or was injured was cured of any wound.

It was probably unhealthy and bad practice, but it meant that when Steve fucked his cock into your asshole without prep, the stinging, tears and pain that would usually come without any sort of preparation would disappear and be replaced but unimaginable pleasure.

The three of you groaned in different tones, Eddie’s being the lowest and yours the highest, as you’re so beautifully stretched, tears lined your eyes. It was similar to having a mini orgasm with how much your walls squeezed around both shafts now situated inside you.

Steve’s mouth was still attached to your mouth as he slowly rotated his hips and took a quick suck of blood to coat his tongue. Aroused, your blood was like sweet nectar for him, like he could taste how you were feeling, which made him feel completely unstoppable, his cock so hard it was like a steel pole inside your ass.

Eddie, in turn, couldn’t believe the sight before him; no matter how many times he did this, he felt so privileged to be able to watch you sandwiched between them, taking both of their cocks at the same time, which was never something you could accomplish before their change to becoming vampires.

Only as Steve pulled away from your neck did Eddie begin to hold your hips and fuck up into you, causing your body to nudge forward and your hands to press against his chest so that you didn’t topple forward.

Where Steve had bitten didn’t bleed due to whatever had been injected into your bloodstream. Still, his mouth now was a dark red colour, including his lips as he kissed you, wanting nothing more than to kiss you deeply and stroke his now warm tongue against yours, but that would mean he’d have to bite you again and too much fun would spoil a good time.

You could smell the blood on his lips, your blood. Not that you cared as your hips began to move up and down, trying to fuck yourself on their lengths, but they soon were holding you still and taking over.

They both moved together, thrusting their hips so both of your holes were filled and empty simultaneously. It took no time for you to orgasm again, your thighs clenching just as hard as your cunt. Your eyes were closed as you savoured every euphoric pulse through your body until it passed, where you promptly collapsed against Eddie's chest.

“Do you want us to stop, Sweetheart?” Eddie asked, worried they would hurt you if they continued, but you tilted your face to look up at him.

Shaking your head, you explained, “Keep going. I don’t want you to stop unless I pass out or tell you to stop”.

Eddie’s eyes widen for a fraction of a section before he kisses your forehead. “Your wish is our command, dear lady”, he joked before wrapping his arms around your shoulders and fucking his hips up once more, causing your body to shiver and a gasp to leave your lips.

The one thing about vampires that they don’t tell you is that they can’t cum. They can feel aroused and feel just as good as any human would, but they would never be able to orgasm or fill you with their seed because their technically dead bodies couldn’t produce any sperm anymore. On the one hand, Eddie missed that part of it so bad, watching your cunt filled with his cum, seeing it drip out, but the rest of it he didn’t mind because it meant that he could fuck for hours and hours without stopping, still feeling just as good, just without the messy clean up at the end.

So on the rare occasion where you were feeling pent up and frustrated like you were today, you would beg them to keep fcking you, sandwiched between them both and free to fuck you for as long as possible. There had been one occasion where you’d cum so many times, your holes gaping and drenched from your juices, that you had simply passed out, something they only realised when your heartbeat began to slow to a gentle melody.

So now, they were slightly more cautious but still didn’t necessarily hold back, and they both held you down and fucked your cunt and ass at the same time. You continued to lie on Eddie’s chest, clinging to his shoulders with your mouth wide open and constantly moaning with every thrust and stroke of their cock.

Each orgasm was just as breathtaking as the next, your thighs becoming soaked with your pussy juices and sweat, which only continued to lube them both on. You’d lost count of the number of orgasms they’d fucked out of you, and it was only as you were becoming to be a little sore and swollen did you finally shake your head, too tired to even speak.

Their thrusts stopped instantly, hands rubbing over your naked spine as they gently eased their cocks out of you. You groaned at the loss but relief from having a moment to relax. You felt like you were high with how many orgasms you’d had like you were floating on a cloud far away.

“You ok, Baby? You still with us?” Steve asked whilst stroking the side of your face carefully. You ignored his question and nuzzled into Eddie's chest, which was answer enough that you felt pretty subby after the fucking and consequently tipped into subspace.

“Alright, my sweet girl, I will carry you into the bathroom. I will give you that bath you wanted; how does that sound?” Eddie ever so gently explained, causing his chest to vibrate with his words, so you tried to bury your face deeper into it. Knowing he wouldn't get a coherent answer from you, Eddie scooped you up into his arms. He padded towards the bathroom, being careful to finally turn on the light, which you quickly flinched arm before he set you down into the bathtub before climbing in behind you.

While still holding you in his arms, he turned the bath water on, deciding it was probably easier to have you in here than in the shower, especially as Steve entered the bathroom with a glass of water and some snacks.

“Baby, I need you to drink this for me.” he gently coaxed your face to turn so that he could get you to drink the water before handing you each chip from the packet into your mouth until he was happy that you’d had some food. “What do you want for dinner? I can make you pasta or something with potatoes. What do you fancy?”

“Anything”, you answer, finally feeling stable enough to talk, blinking gently to try and look up at them both. Steve welcomed you with a soft smile as he used a sponge to wash your back.

“I’ll go and find something to make whilst you stay here with Eddie”. Nodding your head in answer, you watched him stand and exit the bathroom.

Eddie held you close, kissing your temple and snuggling you further into the water to try and keep you warm, as he knew his contrasting body temperature sometimes kept you at a frozen body temp. 

“Your heart is beating so loud. Are you ok?” Eddie asks against your head.

Smiling, you answered honestly, “Just happy to be with the two of you”.

[merakiui]

boyfriend.

yandere!female!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, obsession, implied (cyber)stalking, cheating, dub-con, alcohol/intoxication, characters written as 18+ note - riddle seeks to prune the filthy weeds from your life, starting with your ill-mannered boyfriend. // inspired by dove cameron's boyfriend.

i. i can’t believe we’re finally alone. i can’t believe i almost went home. what are the chances? everyone’s dancing, and he’s not with you.

Riddle has never traveled to this part of the city before—the seedy, unsavory sliver overshadowed by towering skyscrapers, illicit, perilous secrets tucked away in every alley. It’s not as if she’s here under duress. Although if you were to frame it from her perspective, it would feel less like an active, consensual choice and more of a you’ve-forced-my-hand choice. It’s blatant rule-breaking all the same, a stain on her delicate character. Blight on her shiny social status as a golden child, forever marked as the obedient one.

She’s lived her rebellious streak, was punished swiftly and accordingly, and strived to be better in the aftermath. It was one thing to slip out during independent study, and that fun had been trampled upon by a cruel, heeled foot. That was a child’s error. A lesson learned. A valid reason to sever all distractions and improve academically, consequently maturing with sharp, sparkling intelligence and abysmal social skills. 

But Riddle is no longer that starry-eyed, impressionable child, and she does not make the same mistake twice.

Or so she’s always believed, but she’s willing to risk an unforgiving tongue-lashing and life imprisonment at the hands of her mother if it means she can fix things. No matter how she spins it, the truth remains the same: She’s fallen back on an old habit, sneaking out and keeping secrets. She’s an open book to Trey, though, who she’d taken care to message on the train ride into the city, her text mostly cryptic: Should anything happen, this is where I’ll be. It’s wrong to skirt around the truth, especially when it’s your closest friend. She knows this, but then she also knows Trey gives terribly good advice. The type of terribly good advice you often don’t want to hear.

Advice like: “You need to let her go.”

And Riddle can’t—won’t. 

So she steps into the digital footprints left by that brash, brutish party animal you lovingly call your boyfriend, and she follows the string of social media posts like a diligent detective, flicking through each with manicured fingernails. She commits them to memory so that they remain imprinted in her mind before they’ll eventually expire at the twenty-four hour mark.

In the days leading up to tonight, Cater had taken her out for their usual self-care makeover day, which was really just a day dedicated to dressing up and gossiping at the salon. It was a monthly arrangement, and it kept the both of them entertained and sane. The latter of those two was called into question when Riddle, wholly out of character, selected black nail polish for her mani-pedi, which left Cater looking on with brewing curiosity. She gazed at him, pouty lips upturned slyly, and said, “I thought I’d give red a temporary break.”

“Oh, but red is so your color!” he insisted, raising his phone to capture both of them in frame. 

Riddle smiled at the camera. “I know.”

It has always been her color, a staple in her closet. It’s a favorite she can never truly shake, hence why it stains her lips instead. Bright like arterial blood, a blossoming carnation, it stands out starkly on her pale countenance—the only splotch of color on her person. Cater took her shopping when he’d learned she was attempting to fit a new style into her wardrobe of prim, modest clothes. They ran up and down the racks, grinning at each other from across the store and holding up sweaters and skirts, weighing whether either would suit Riddle’s night out. In the end, she settled for the outfit she wears now: a red tube top, a cropped puffer jacket, a pencil skirt that doesn’t pass the fingertip test (not that she cares to follow that rule), tights, and knee-high heeled boots. To finish the look, she’s pulled her hair from its usual plaits, allowing it to cascade down her back like a crimson waterfall. Fingerless lace gloves adorn her hands, stitched with intricate patterns of roses and thorns.

Cater called it the Femme Fatale Friday fit. It’s a Saturday night, but it feels like Friday when she peers at her reflection in a pocket mirror, checking her makeup once more. 

She will not make the same mistake twice. She’s a paragon of perfection—Riddle Rosehearts, for seven’s sake! 

Stuffing the mirror into a matching handbag, she eyes the skyscraper looming before her, sleek with its metal framework and industrial glass. The bright cityscape reflects off of each window, dazzling with luminous specks of light. She considers the contents in her purse, reviews each with a critical eye, and inhales a steadying breath. 

This is necessary.

She’s an adult now, nearly finished with her graduate studies. She lives on her own in a quaint, pet-friendly apartment with her hedgehog, and she works part-time at the café down the street, putting forth her best effort as she weathers the woes of university. Despite all of this independence, she doesn’t feel like an adult. 

Not when she can hear her mother in the back of her head: You look ridiculous. Come home right now before you make a fool of yourself and sully my good name.

Riddle scowls at the concrete, curling her fingers into fists. 

She’s an adult now. She is not her mother’s doll.

Leaving all hostility and self-doubt at the door, she steps through the lobby and beelines for the lift. It carries her to her destination—one of the highest floors. A penthouse suite. 

And not just any penthouse suite. Floyd Leech’s penthouse suite.

Under normal circumstances, she would never willingly set foot in his territory. She survived four years of school with him, which was already a sickening amount, and in that time she watched him glide through his undergraduate with just barely passing grades. That wasn’t enough to stoke the red-hot embers of envy, though. It only made him seem even more like a cockroach, unable to be crushed by the weight of scholarly responsibilities, for he never took anything seriously.

For that reason, Riddle has never envied Floyd. But by the end of their third year, he had something Riddle didn’t. 

He had you. 

How he managed to settle into a relationship when all he did was slack off, party, and break the rules was beyond Riddle. He was a slippery delinquent, hardly deserving of your sweet affections, and yet you looked at him like he was the only one on the planet. Just where was the appeal? His manner of dress is sloppy. The way he carries himself is unpalatable and crude. The way he acts suggests his insipience is incurable. Even when he applies himself, he is still Floyd and that doesn’t clean his slate or shine his reputation. So in Riddle’s discerning eyes, he does not possess a scintilla of romantic appeal.

You don’t seem to agree with these sentiments, for you’ve been with Floyd for four long years. 

Love is blinding, but Riddle has never been in love before and so she doesn’t have adequate data to prove this point. It was forbidden in her home. She’s only allowed to love the men her mother handpicks, plucking each specimen like they’re ripened strawberries from a bush. In the beginning she found all manner of minor details to excuse them from her life, insisting upon a nonexistent list of impossibly high standards. He was too tall. He was too forward with his interest. He wore contrasting colors. He didn’t like tea. These reasons were far too critical and childish, and each man had been sent away in a huff. Her mother would scold her, halving her with a nasty glare: “Are you planning to die alone?”

Yes, Riddle realized by the twentieth admonishment, yet another man cast aside. If dying alone means romantic freedom in life, I’ll do just that.

The elevator spits her out into the hall, which isn’t as silent as she thought it’d be. Bass shakes through the walls, reverberating all the way through her ribs as if it intends to stir up her organs. She catches her reflection in the windows, noting the dark, monstrous scowl, and smooths her face into something courageous. She means business as she clicks down the hall, preparing herself for the whirlwind that undoubtedly waits behind the door. Riddle starts to wonder how Floyd’s neighbors have yet to file a noise complaint and then stops, her thoughts cutting off abruptly. It’s a challenge to make complaints when your father holds parts of the city’s underground in his palms.

He’s got it easy, that spoiled pest. 

Riddle’s gait slows to a halt and she reaches out to knock thrice. The door is thrown open before she can even bring her fist down. Soon she’s staring at a rosy-cheeked stranger, whose eyes trace her figure like he’s trying to paint her on his mental canvas. She’s prepared for the worst, having tucked the spray in her bag, its container disguised to look like lipstick. The strawberry keychain hanging from her purse is a self-defense alarm, ready to be pulled at a moment’s notice. His ogling does not frighten her, nor do his intentions, if he can even harbor any in that intoxicated brain of his. She’s braved scarier horrors. Like living out years of her life with her mother.

“Heyyy, you one of Floyd’s girls? Here for the party?”

Riddle suppresses the disgusted shiver threatening to crawl up her spine, swallowing bile. “Just the party.” 

She is no one’s girl. Definitely not Floyd’s. 

When she’s let inside and the stench of sweat and alcohol assault her nostrils, coupled with the too-loud party music, she considers retreating, her mother’s judgment echoing: You look ridiculous. Her fingers twitch towards her purse. One text and Trey would pick her up. One call and Cater would be on his way. But then she’d be forced to tell them the truth—would have to admit that she’s chasing the one person she can never have. 

She hardens her resolve, pushes through the throng of bodies in an effort to find refreshments, and there you are, her perfect, pretty wallflower in a perfect, pretty silver dress. The dim neon lighting casts you in a luscious pink haze, and she watches you scroll through your phone, your eyelids falling and opening. You’re so beautiful—the sweetest thing she’s ever seen, more saccharine than a truckload of strawberry tarts. Her hand slides away from her purse, and she tamps down a gleeful smile, stepping over to you with newfound confidence.

“(Name)?”

You turn your whole body towards her, your gaze unfocused. She can smell the liquor on you, can see the hickeys not quite covered by a velvet choker. Her gaze narrows. He’s all over you, isn’t he? From top to bottom, you are covered in traces of him. Her nose scrunches. Just what do you see in him?

It should be her teeth on your skin, tearing it open, bruising it, tasting slick copper on her tongue. It should have always been her, but it’s not. Why did you have to settle for less when you’re entitled to so much more?

You peer at her like she’s something in a museum, perplexing and abstract. And then it clicks. You gasp, your mouth falling open in awe, and your words come out horribly slurred. She fails to hide her wince when you throw your arms around her, hanging off of her like a tote on a shoulder.

“Riddle! You…seriously showed up… Can’t believe it’s really you. It feels like it’s been forever.” You pull away, swaying with the motion, and place your hands on her arms. “Your outfit is suuuper cute.”

She’s blushing. She knows she is because her face is burning with heat and suddenly it’s much too stifling in here. “Oh. Ah, um, t-thank you very much… You look very nice, too.”

Really? Is that the best thing I could say? ‘You look very nice’? Honestly, Riddle…

But you smile, and the sight steals her heart all over again. You can have it. By all means take her heart. Take it and love it to pieces. That way it will be fair when she takes yours. An even exchange in accordance with the rules of love. 

Or maybe it’s more so the rules of romantic warfare, carried out to the extreme on a chessboard. Or a croquet court. Something sporty and metaphorical, anyway.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” she asks, refusing to say his name lest she speak him into existence and tarnish her near-perfect evening.

Her question strikes a chord within you, and you heave an exaggerated sigh. You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the wall for support. “Left me to go hang with the guys. S’not fair!” you whine, sliding further down until you’re sitting in a defeated heap. 

Riddle bends down to your height, her tone as soft and sympathetic as her expression. “Does he always do this?”

Hurt flashes across your face, but you don’t say anything. So he does. Why is she not surprised?

Who in the world leaves their partner at a party, vulnerable and alone? Riddle thinks, anger flaring up in her chest. Someone could take advantage of you. You’re in no state to be standing here by yourself. That fool… He doesn’t know how to treat a lady at all. How have you put up with him for four years? Your patience amazes me.

“It’s not like…” You shut your eyes and rest your head against the wall. “Not like an always-happening thing…”

Riddle isn’t going to sugarcoat it. She wants her words to cut deep, all the way to the heart you’ve allowed Floyd to bind. “Whether or not he does it often, the fact still stands that he left you intoxicated in the corner of this room. That’s careless and unsafe.” She tilts her head, admiring the way you’ve done your makeup, the way your plush lips jut out in a miserable pout. And it just rushes out, words she’s thought but never had the courage to say. At least, not to the sober you. “I wouldn’t do that to you. You deserve so much better.”

Like me, she almost adds, but that’s too direct. And she’s not even sure the admission will land when you’re so out of it.

“Appreciate it…” You scrub your face, groaning. “Ugh. I feel sick…”

“Would you like to get some fresh air?” 

You shake your head, stubborn to a fault. “Can’t. Gotta wait for Floyd.”

Riddle frowns. “I highly doubt he’s coming back anytime soon.” 

“Still.”

“At the very least, let’s get you some water.” She offers her hand, hoping and praying to the heavens above that you’ll take it.

You do. It’s a flawless fit. Her heart flutters, weightless and feathery, when her fingers close around yours. She wonders what moisturizer you use, what sort of lotions kiss your skin. Are they scented, or is that just your perfume? Or have you done away with perfume for tonight and is that a natural fragrance? Or maybe it’s the sweet scent of a fruity wine, printed on your tongue like a delicious tattoo. 

She wants to kiss you. 

“Just how much have you had to drink?” 

“Like a cup or two? I…dunno. Does it matter?”

You stumble when she helps you up, grabbing at her shoulder for support. Riddle almost falls back, but the wall braces her. You place your palm right by her head, and suddenly you’re leaning in, inadvertently pinning her to the wall. Her pupils nearly eclipse her blue-grey irises, and her breath sticks in her throat. Oh, you’re so close. You’re a drunken mess, pushing yourself up against her, your beauty enveloping her like a chrysalis. If this is a dream, she never wants to wake, for the world that awaits her beyond this is cold and colorless. 

Your head lowers to the dip between shoulder and neck, and she gazes heavenward. The ceiling is much nicer at this moment, if only so she can clear her own heady haze of impure thoughts. 

There are people about, she has to remind herself, shaking off the urge to close her fingers around your chin and tilt your head up to meet her mouth. And she has a boyfriend. Just because I can doesn’t mean I should.

But the chance is much too beguiling. You’re right here, quite literally within her reach, and Floyd’s nowhere in sight. It’s too perfect. She can’t quite wrap you in an affectionate embrace—though that is an irresistible urge she must fight off—so she settles to rub circles into your back instead, dutifully reflecting the role of a concerned friend. It’s not the part she wishes to play. Rather, she’d gladly take on the title of boyfriend if it meant you’d feel loved. Every day, at every hour, for the rest of your life. She’d do all the things Floyd ought to do: care for you, appreciate you, protect you, stay by your side through thick and thin. 

Love is a dangerous, thorny thing, but it’s the encroaching jealousy that kills. 

Floyd doesn’t deserve you. If anything, he deserves a mouth full of soap to scrub every profanity he’s ever uttered. Just what does he tell you in bed? That you’re a good girl? That you’re soooo tight? That you can take it? Does he know which ways you like it? Does he know where to touch so you’ll unravel faster? Does he know how to get you properly, thoroughly worked up, so much so that it feels like your skin is aflame with potent want and desire? 

Does he even know your anatomy, or are you simply a body for his avaricious appetite? 

Like roses twining possessively around a trellis, Riddle holds you close in her arms, her hand sweeping across your lower back. Her glacial eyes scan the crowd, warding off anyone who may be curious with her most malevolent death stare. 

“Mm… I need to lie down. My head is…spinning…”

With that, the murderous, overprotective haze sticking to Riddle like a poisonous fog dissipates. A sickly sweet smile widens on ruby-red lips. “Let’s find someplace quiet.”

Together, the two of you stagger-walk out of the room, leaving the party and its inhabitants behind. Crossing through the attached kitchenette, Riddle pilfers a bottled water from the fridge.

Her mind is sharp as a cut diamond. Her skin prickles with anticipation.

Down the hall you go, with Riddle supporting you with what minimal physical strength she has. A door looms before the both of you, cast in a comfortable glow from a neighboring skyscraper, and you struggle to pull your heels off while she pushes the door open. It reveals a messy room, clothing and candy wrappers strewn about sloppily. 

Riddle feels like she’s on top of the world, and she is. Up in the clouds on the forty-third floor of this luxurious penthouse apartment. 

ii. i could be a better boyfriend than him. i could do the shit that he never did. up all night, i won’t quit. 

All throughout her undergraduate, Riddle pined. Hopelessly. Forlornly. Desperately.

Hungrily. 

It was unbecoming to want something to such an obsessive degree. She buried herself in her studies to do away with lustful delusions, each more distracting than the last. But then you would crop up in her life when she least expected it and soon the two of you were studying together. Soon you were visiting her dorm to watch movies during the times in which she allowed herself the break (and she only did so because it was you). Soon you were spending nights in her room, sleeping sprawled on the floor even though she offered her bed time and time again. You’d get ready in the mornings, debating what the breakfast menu would entail. She’d watch your reflection in the floor mirror as you pulled your shirt up and over your head, eyeing the way you slid seamlessly into a lacy black bra. And then she’d change out of her nightgown, and you’d comment on her undergarments. 

“We should go shopping sometime. You gotta get cuter stuff!”

“Why should I? No one’s going to see it,” she insisted with a flustered huff.

“I’ll see it the next time I sleep over,” you told her, smiling innocently as you stepped into a blue handkerchief skirt. “Besides, there are so many cute sets you could wear. You’d look so pretty in something red and frilly. You’re totally missing out.”

Riddle considered it back then. Your eager eyes had almost won her over, but she was firm in her decision. “I’m fine with what I have now.” 

And the conversation ended there. She really wishes you would have pushed it back then because just a little nudge in that direction and she would have given in, entirely at your mercy. 

Selfishly, she just yearned to be stuck in a changing stall with you. 

All throughout her undergraduate, Riddle fostered a special sort of friendship with you. You’d stop by her dorm during finals to insist she take a break, your offer too tempting. She’s always been weak to sweets. You were close enough to exchange intimate details with one another. She listened to all of your dating woes, and conversely you’d sit still and bear witness to her ramblings about fascinating law facts. Sometimes she’d rant about her mother. You always listened. “She sounds like she sucks,” you said once. “How are you even related to her? You’re so nice.”

It was a pleasant three years. If she deluded herself enough, she could have pretended you were her girlfriend and then she’d have something to tell her mother to put an end to the countless attempts at scoring her a husband. I will never marry any of your options, she would think, playing the confrontation out in her head. I have a partner now and we’re very happy together. Sometimes Riddle imagined her mother tossing darts at a board with photographs of men attached to it, disregarding compatibility altogether in favor of upholding traditional rules. But then Riddle realized she’d have to die before she could ever admit her own romantic freedoms to her mother, and so that conversation only ever came about in daydreams. 

I’d rather die alone than live life shackled in a loveless marriage. She wonders if her father thought the same.

Those three years had been a wonderful reality, filled with sugared, candy-coated love. A one-sided love, sure. But Riddle could settle for platonic affections, for that was just as sweet.

And then he arrived at the doorstep to Riddle’s fantasy cottage, kicking the walls down and sweeping you off your feet.

Floyd Leech has always been a nuisance. You were there to shoo him away every time he came knocking, all broad grins and vexatious jeers. He listened to you most days, a mutt without proper leashing, oddly loyal to you. As if you were his keeper of sorts. Riddle was amazed, befuddled, and worried all at once. Unlike her, you could keep your cool, could still smile so kindly even when Floyd was being an utter pain in the ass with his foolish nicknames. When he tried to pluck Riddle’s hairpin from out of her braids—a handmade gift you had given her for her birthday—she slapped him hard across the face and hissed, “Don’t ever put your filthy paws on me again.”

And maybe it was because you were there that she was able to recover shortly after the outburst. (Although she still meant that slap with every fiber of her being.) Maybe you were her collar. Maybe you were her keeper. Maybe she was meant to meet you so that you could color her world, lead her along into the friendship she’d been robbed of as a child. 

Looking back, Riddle realizes that was the catalyst. Because when Floyd cradled his bright-red cheek, giggling like a maniac, you asked him, “Don’t you have anything better to do? Can’t you bother someone else?”

And then you were made the prime target. 

What’s worse is that you reveled in it, adored every ounce of attention Floyd gave you like it was something holy, later admitting to Riddle during a movie marathon that you “wondered if Floyd was seeing anyone.” She wanted to retch. You, a seraph incarnate, with a devil like Floyd? Impossible. But your tone was so whimsical; you were dreaming of it. You liked him. 

She couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.

By the end of her third year, just as finals gave way to summer, you threw your arms around Floyd’s neck while he pressed you up against the trunk of a flowering tree. Pink petals fluttered to the ground, and with the falling blossoms came Riddle’s hope, crashing and burning in a heartbroken heap. 

She won’t make the same mistake twice, which is precisely why, when you flop onto Floyd’s unmade bed, she turns the lock to keep all outside influences away. The party is but a mere muffle now, thrumming through the floorboards with reckless abandon.

Her nose wrinkles at the pile of dirty laundry. Slob, she thinks, brimming with hate. What does she see in you? You’re a mess, you’re definitely a criminal, you can’t keep a stable job, you throw obnoxious parties every other week, you leave your own girlfriend unattended… What part of that is appealing? She gazes at you next. You’re too good for him, (Name). You can do so much better. Raise your standards. Find someone respectable and attentive. Someone who’ll stay with you forever. Someone who won’t let you get stupidly drunk and then run off to Queen-knows-where.

“Someone like me,” she mutters.

You have to be coerced into drinking, and you’re so sleepy that the water dribbles down your chin. Riddle tuts at you, swiping the liquid away with her sleeve. 

“You’re a mess,” she says, affectionate despite the barb. 

You’re my mess.

She slides your heels off, casting them elsewhere. You look like a starfish when you lay sprawled, or maybe you’re more like a snow angel. Only rather than snow, you imprint yourself amongst wrinkled sheets. Riddle knows it’s wrong, but you’re right here. She’s waited so many years for a moment like this one.

It’s not fair. 

She unzips her boots, kicks them off, and stands at the edge of the bed, locked in a fierce debate. You should have thrown your arms around her that day. You should have kissed her, should have spent the last four years with her, should have stayed in her life like the permanent fixture you were destined to be. She’s never wanted anything more than this. Not even a surplus of strawberry tarts. Not even the dreams she’s working tirelessly towards achieving. She’s only ever wanted you. 

But Floyd took you away, and her world has never been the same since. 

The mattress dips under her weight; she’s made up her mind. 

“Do you remember the promise we made?” she whispers, running her hands up your legs. You lift your head to look at her, eyes glassy with inebriated exhaustion. “The one in which we’d live together after graduation? You said you’d want to live somewhere pet-friendly so we could get hedgehogs and name them Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

You hum, your lashes fluttering. 

“We could still do that. Just you and me. Without your boyfriend.”

“What?”

Her fingers catch on the waistband of your panties. “Hm?” 

“Mm, no, nothing… You should get going. It’s late…” “Someone has to look after you.”

“Floyd can.”

She presses her thumbs into your hips and the tiniest gasp leaves your parted lips. “But Floyd’s not.”

“He will.”

“He won’t,” she snaps. Something flickers in your eyes, a flash of unrest. Riddle chews her lower lip. “He’s… (Name), what do you see in him? Honestly, truly, what is it? Please educate me. Please… What does he have that I don’t? What makes you stay?”

“Cuz he’s my boyfriend,” you mutter slowly, perplexed, “and I love him.”

“Do you?” 

“Riddle, why are you so…” The words fizzle out on your tongue when her touch strays too close to home. “Wait… We can’t… Not in here.”

“Why not? It’s just one more mess. He won’t even notice.”

“That’s not it… Riddle, wait. I… I don’t like you in that—”

She collapses, anchoring herself to you, her manicured nails digging deep into your arms. And then her mouth is on yours, clumsy and uncoordinated. She doesn’t want to hear it—can’t bear to hear it. She knows the truth. It’s haunted her from the day she met you, a shadow looming like a guillotine’s blade. You were fated to be forever out of reach. Just like those strawberry tarts in the bakery window. The kiss is filthy, all desire and zero skill. Her tongue flashes into your mouth. It’s nothing like the way they describe it in fiction or portray it in films. It’s obscene. Sinful. Libidinous. Her lipstick smears; she tastes the wine in your throat, licks your teeth and nibbles your lip, delicate and gruesome all at once. She tries her best, unyielding. 

The technique doesn’t matter. Not now, anyway. It’s just blind, unrequited passion. She’ll learn it eventually and when she does she’ll kiss you drunk. It’s just another thing she’ll master. And she will because that’s just who she is. Give her a textbook and she’ll have it memorized. Give her a kiss and she’ll return to practice it to perfection. 

She pulls away, panting, her lipstick in disarray. It’s all over you, smudging on the corners of your mouth. Running a hand through her hair, her figure outlined in the tantalizing glow from the city lights, she licks her lips. 

“Riddle…” 

Spoken soft like prayer, it’s a whisper she’ll treasure. Over and over, without end, repeat it like a mantra. 

“Riddle, please…”

“He doesn’t know anything about your preferences, does he?” Your dress is slid up next. She traces a heart into your bare stomach, capturing your navel in invisible lines. You shudder under her touch, grabbing at her wrist with a limp hand. She brings it up to her lips and presses a chaste kiss to the top of it. “I know you much better than he does. I always have.”

To prove it, she presses two fingers to your clothed pussy. You whine, reedy and high-pitched. “But…”

“I read it takes fourteen minutes for women to reach their end during partnered sex.” She levels you with a half-lidded stare, smirking. What she lacks in skill, she makes up for in raw confidence. “I’ll only need less than that, so you won’t have to feign anything for my sake. I know you well enough, my rose.”

A wide range of emotions waltzes across your countenance. Your arm falls over your face next. It’s defeat or hesitant acceptance, but to Riddle it’s love. 

“Ten minutes,” you whisper, conceding. “And then…you need to leave.”

She makes you cum in just five, covers you in lipstick prints, each kiss a sly cover-up. Floyd may be all over you, bites and bruises blooming new and old, but he’s not inside you, wringing you out like a sodden towel. You sob like you’re in heat when she sinks her fingers into your slick warmth, scissoring so slowly, until you’re begging her to make you cum again. Your fluids soak through the sheets. The scent of sex and sweat hangs heavy in the air. She’s alive, wildly untamed, a knight who’s just rescued the princess and slayed a bloodthirsty dragon. 

Her head is between your thighs next, her hands braced on either leg to keep them apart. You watch her with glazed eyes, soon throwing your head back when she slides your hood up to reveal your pretty, pert clit. Experimentally, she licks a teasing stripe up your slit. You shiver and dig your fingers into her scalp, imprisoning her there. It’s where she’s always wanted to be. 

“Tell me,” she murmurs, the words fanning across your pussy, “if he’s so good, why haven’t you proven it? Is this the most you’ve ever cum in a night? Does he please you or do you please him? If he’s everything you’ve ever wanted, why are you still so unsatisfied?” 

“Because… B-Because!”

Your protests are fragmented and spotted with gasps. That’s arguably more telling than a detailed response. 

Riddle smiles like a Cheshire, her eyes narrowed victoriously. Spidery digits creep along your thighs. Her thumbs dip into your pussy, spreading it wide for her viewing pleasure. “Don’t think of him. Tonight, it’s just you and me. I’ll give you what you’re owed. That and so much more.”

Like a fragile statue, you topple. Right into her, bucking against her mouth like the world is ending, and she’s there to steady you.

She always is.

iii. i’m gonna steal you from him. i could be such a gentleman. plus, you know my clothes would fit.

“Sooo… Gimme the goss. How was your night out?”

Riddle looks up from an assortment of nail polish colors, each one more red than the last, and says, “It was more enjoyable than I thought.”

“Yeah?” Cater prompts, brows raised. “Don’t be so vague! I wanna know all the juicy details. It’s rare for you to stay out so late. And to go to a party, of all things, in the city? Hello?! New Riddle, who’s this?” 

“I was only meeting an old friend.”

“That’s what they all say.”

The technician asks her to pick a color. “This one,” she says, pointing. “The one named Sanguine Sunrise.” 

“You’re totes keeping me in the dark!” Cater whines, dramatic. “At least give Cay-Cay some hints! Something! Anything! Spare change, please?”

Riddle smiles smugly. Pride drips from every syllable when she speaks next. “My friend will be spending this Valentine’s Day alone.”

“Bummer.”

“Not quite. She’ll have me and half-priced chocolates. A rather charming combination, no?”

Cater laughs. “GL. I’m rooting for you.”

You don’t need to, she thinks, tracing the love bite stamped into her skin, hidden under the soft fabric of her blouse. Because I’m already winning.

Her phone buzzes with a text: about last night… if i did anything weird, i’m so sorry. i was way too drunk. 

Riddle turns it over, dips her feet in the heated water, and settles into the massage chair, pleased as a peach. “It was one bad decision. Four years of bad decisions, but it’s forgiven. We all make silly mistakes when we’re lovestruck. Hopefully her silly mistake disappears for good and we never have to speak of him again.”

“You’re so scary, Riddle. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Another message arrives: i think we might’ve kissed last night. i’m really super sorry.

There’s a brief delay.

ok this is gonna sound weird coming from me but maybe we can do it again??? floyd’s kisses are sorta… :/ 

Her phone vibrates for the final time that afternoon.

actually i’m just gonna stop talking omg i’m crazy. i have a bf and everything. sorry riddle please ignore all of this kk tysm ttyl <3

wait one more text before i forget,, if you wanna meet up for tea i wouldn’t mind. we should definitely catch up when i’m not hungover. kk bye fr this time <3

A start is a start. You can’t grow a rose tree without first planting a seed.

[the-fiction-witch]

Caraxes

Media House of The Dragon

Character Daemon Targaryen

Couple Daemon X Reader

Rating Sweet + A bit flirty

Daemon slowly climbs down from his black stallion he gives his clothes an adjust before he turns back with a smile to his soon-to-be bride Y/n, sat on the horse in her black gown, He takes her in his arms and helps her down from the horse gracefully before He began to walk off with her hand held tightly in his, until they arrived at the entrance to the Dragon pit. Before entering, however, he stopped.

"Before we go in my love, I must ask you to remain calm. Would you be able to do that for me?"

She held his arm the whole walk rather excited even if she was clearly nervous, she nodded and smiled trying her best not to show her fears, Daemon found her so adorable, an innocent sweet girl, and he wanted to protect her at all costs.

"Then come on, my love."He smiled kissing her hand before he began to walk in,

First was the smell of the scent of dragon, The warm reptilian scent with burnt flesh and stone.

Second was The noise of the Dragons echoing through the large caverns of the dragon bit,

"Now. You must remain calm as I introduce you. I know that it may be difficult, but I ask that you please try not to show your fears,"

"I promise to do my best Daemon" She blushed,

"Your best is more than enough, my love." he cooed kissing her forehead,

"thought I admit Imagined them having a bigger house.”

Daemon chuckled as she spoke. "The Dragon pit here are much smaller than the space they have back at Dragonstone. Back home they have hundreds of acres only for the Dragons to roam. Here we are limited to the cavens,"

“Ohh… poor things,”

“I never like keeping him here long, and even when I do I make sure to take him out alot.”

“That’s very sweet of you,”

"Do you want to meet my most beloved dragon?"

she nodded hiding her eyes behind her hands to be surprised

Daemon smiled wrapping his arms around her waist and giving her a kiss, The dragon keepers brought Caraxes in from a smaller caven to be admired in his full glory as Caraxes lifted his head and looked down at the two of them already the dragon was tense as he knew his master and bonded Targaryen but did not know Y/n. Daemon could already see this would be a beautiful moment that would forever be burned into her memory.

"My love. I want you to open your eyes, and I want you to look up now."

y/n moved her hands and her eyes began far lower but then she quickly corrected from her expectations of the dragon being far smaller than he was and immediately she gulped, fear washed over her for a moment but she did her best to be brave, as she looks up at Caraxes the dragon tall with fiery red scales, bright yellow eyes, a beard of horns and wings large enough to strange a ship, his body long and serpentine like with a neck that slithers and slicks,

Daemon smiled and watched her reaction as she took in the sight of his dragon.

"My dragon, my oldest and most trusted companion, Caraxes." He said,

"he's...big,"

Daemon laughed at her comment as he spoke. "He is indeed very big, but he is a gentle dragon. Come on."

He began leading her to Caraxes, The dragon did not seem happy about this woman approaching but given she was still being held by a daemon he seemed to accept her… for now.

“How uhh how old is he?”

“No one knows for sure, my uncle Aemon rode him as a young dragon all the way until his death,”

“So he was your uncle’s?”

“He was, dragons can only have one living rider. So when Aemon died by crossbow. He was riderless.”

“And then… You?”

“And I found him, after all riderless dragons are often ignored. I was merely a boy but he gave me structure, and purpose at a young age.”

“That is very sweet,”

“Come on, you can touch him,”

She slowly moved closer clearly nervous, "will he eat me?" she whispered her fears already overwhelming her,

"He wouldn't dare try such a thing. Caraxes would never even dream of harming you. Come, he wishes to meet you." Daemon could see how nervous she was, and it only made him want to protect her more.

she moved maybe two more steps closer "...can he hear me?" She whispered

Daemon raised an eyebrow at her question and then nodded as he spoke. "Of course he can my love. He can hear everything we say." Daemon chuckled, and looked to her. "He is a gentle soul really. You see, I have trained him well. He even understands me, come closer, you are nothing to fear my love."

She moved closer now so close caraxes could investigate her with Daemon still behind her protectively Caraxes sniffed at her, his nose rubbing slightly against her. Daemon could see his eyes narrowing as he studied her, and as she remained in place.

Daemon smiled, and gave her hand a tight squeeze. "He likes you. See? Caraxes is quite a sweet dragon."

"I suppose so... Uhhh... Thank you for not eating me caraxes..."

"You see!? Such a nice dragon... Would you like to try and touch him now?"

She was clearly still full of fear as she moved her hand closer and touched the dragon scales for maybe a second, if that. Before she moved her hand away as quickly as she could. Daemon chuckled and took her hand resting it against Caraxes scales his hand ontop of hers as the dragon shifted accepting Y/n as an extension of Daemon,

Daemon smiled, quite impressed by her calm demeanour around such a large beast. "See? You're doing great, he certainly likes you my love."

"he is very nice, very sweet. And a very handsome dragon" she smiled as she began to stroke caraxes by the nose with both her hands

Daemon smiled wide as he continued to watch them, feeling a sense of pride in her. She was so sweet, and had certainly won Caraxes's heart. Which was more then enough to melt his own to see the woman he loved and was to marry bond so happily with his dragon, "He is quite a handsome dragon, isn't he?"

Caraxes responded to her petting by tilting his head back against her, he seemed quite contented with her attention.

"mhm very handsome"

It made him so happy to see her and his dragon enjoy one another, As she continued to stroke Caraxes, Daemon smiled and spoke. "It seems you have my dragon's heart."

"I do?"

"You have. Caraxes is clearly quite fond of you, I can tell. You won him over, and as such I am quite pleased with you. I have the feeling you two would get along just fine with one another."

"I hope so, hello caraxes your very lovely thank you for being nice to me. I think your a very big very nice dragon" she smiled

"I think he appreciates your kind words my love. I believe he would like you to become his friend."

"awww I'm sure we'll be freinds"

Daemon gave her hand another tight squeeze. "I think he's grown fond of you already. I must say, it is rather nice to see him with a woman who does not scream in fear while looking at him."

"I admit he shocked me I didn't imagine he was so big but he's very sweet and handsome. Just like someone else I know," she smiled giving caraxes nose a kiss and then daemons nose a kiss

"I would certainly say the feeling is mutual." He rubbed his thumb against his caraxes nose too, "See? Even my dragon finds you as irresistible as I do, my love."

"he does?"

"He does, I think your kiss has quite won him over now."

Caraxes nudged his head against her again, and looked up to Daemon with an expectant look.

Daemon smiled, and chuckled before speaking."See. He truly does enjoy your affection."

"awww," she smiled doing her best to hug the gigantic dragon with her tiny arms,

Daemon chuckled at the scene before him "I think it's safe to say the two of you are getting along quite well. Would you like to try and climb on him my love? I believe he would hold you safely if you wanted to try."

"ohh... I don't know, isn't it dangerous?"

"Caraxes would never allow you to come to any harm, and nor would I. I will assure you, you would be perfectly safe."

"well... If you think it's safe. Could I give him something before we go? A treat perhaps... If... Uhh if dragons have treats?"

“A treat?”

“I’m sorry… do dragons get treats?”

Daemon smirked at this, as he spoke."I'm sure he would like a little treat. Would you like me to go and get him one love?"

"Mhm"

Daemon laughed at her answer and nodded slightly. "I shall be back with something in a moment." he gave her a kiss and went to talk to the dragon keepers,

she was a little more nervous now she was alone even if daemon is just across the room, but she smiled and stroked caraxes nose "ummm your a very beautiful boy, I see why Daemon loves you so much"

Caraxes whimpers in response to her words, moving his head against her now that she was alone with him. He seemed to enjoy her words, and after a moment of her caressing him, he began to lean toward her.

she giggled and ran her hands over his scales and gave him kisses softly singing a gentle song like a lullaby

Caraxes seemed to be enjoying the gentle singing and her caressing. Caraxes leaned his massive head against her, his red scales feeling quite hot from her touch. After a moment or two that she spent giving him gentle kisses and caresses, it was quite clear he had found himself quite smitten with her now. After a moment he nudged his cheek against her in an attempt to get her to scratch it, the gentle red dragon wanted all the affection he could get from her. She began to gently scratch his cheek as the dragon nudged her. Caraxes's small yellow eyes seemed to be locked onto hers, and his tongue licked at her hand at one point.

Daemon came back over the keepers having fetched a pig, "I believe Caraxes really likes you my love. I wonder why that might be."

"who knows? Maybe I just smell nice?"

"Perhaps that is it. That you may be filled with a scent that just so happens to attract such powerful dragons." He teased her,

"or maybe... He's just so much like you. You fell in love with me only makes sense a dragon that is such an extension of yourself would love me too,"

He chuckled lightly as he spoke again. “I suppose that could be true,” He nodded, “You think my dragon and I are quite similar then?"

"Umm my big handsome sweet boys"

Daemon smiled brightly. "Really?"

"Mhm, But ones a little more special" she smiled wrapping her arms around daemons shoulders,

"And which of us is more special my dear love?"

"hummm I wonder" she Giggled before she stood on her toes and kissed his lips

Her attempt was quite cute, and his mouth met hers as they kissed. He could feel the passion building, and he couldn't quite contain himself now. He took her in his arms, lifting her body up against him. Their lips locked in an intimate and passionate kiss, Daemon's lips continued to play with her own, as one of his hands found her back while the other hand moved to her soft neck. Their kissing grew more intense now, and he found himself enjoying the moment far more than he thought he would. Daemon's body pressed hers against the wall, and he could feel her curves pressing against him. His hand moved to hold her back while his other hand continued to run its fingers through her soft hair. She was incredibly attractive, and the passion between the two was clearly growing larger and larger. Daemon felt his heart beating faster and faster. And Y/n felt as if she was to faint from the passion, The adrenaline between the two increased as their kisses became more heated. His body moved closer, pressing up against her. He could feel the heat of her body as it pressed against him, it was quite intoxicating to say the least.

they are both suddenly interrupted by the harsh sound of caraxes blowing fire into the roof of the cave they both jumped at the loud noise of Caraxes's fire, Caraxes stared at them both in a disapproving manner.

After a moment Daemon spoke, trying his best to contain a chuckle. "I believe he does not approve."

"I think he might be a bit jealous? Of me or you?"

Daemon chuckled as he spoke. "I believe he is most likely jealous of me." he smirked, "He must be smiutten with you, and now he will want to have your affection all to him self my love."

"ohh I'm sorry I didn't mean to cause any trouble"

Daemon chuckled lightly at her apology. "There is nothing to apologize for my love. You have done nothing wrong. I do believe Caraxes is simply a bit jealous, so I must go back to giving him what he wants. Do not worry about it my dear."

"All alright I do hope I didn't cause any trouble between you" she said nervously

"Don't worry, I admit I got a little jealous seeing him with you too so I can't blame him for getting jealous of you and I?"

"You did?"

"A little my love," He cooed, "Do you think you'd want to ride on Caraxes back with me?"

"Now?" she gulped,

"Not today, another day, with less wind when it's safer for you." he explained, "But? would you want to?"

"I think so," she nodded, "I'd like to,"

"You are just perfect aren't you," He cooed, "I can see it now, you and I riding on dragon back together around dragon stone"

"It does sound nice," 

"And perhaps we will have dragon eggs settled by the cradle,"

"The cradle?" she giggled,

"Umm, Our children will be Targaryens my love. Dragon riders. We could lay eggs in their cradles and have them bond at birth, so we can go riding around dragon stone with our children on caraxes when they're young and then... their own when they are grown." 

"Riding on Caraxes? with our children?" she laughed at what seemed so absurd but she found it sweet at the same time that Daemon wanted his children to ride on his dragon with him,

"Of course," he nodded, "My mother took me to the sky with me in her lap when I was merely three weeks old, as she rode on Meleys," He explained, "Would you deny me giving our children the same?"

"Ohh..." she smiled, "Of course not, I could never deny such a thing. It's very sweet Daemon, I am sorry if my joke of it offended-"

Daemon smiled at her, stroking her cheek for a moment before letting his fingers play with her hair. "There is nothing to worry about my love. come on He likely just want’s his treat." he chuckled

she nodded and cuddled into his chest happily, Daemon wrapped his arms around her body as he held her to his. She was so comfortable, and her being this close felt quite warm to him. His fingers ran through the soft strands of her hair, and he could feel the softness of her skin against him as he ordered the keepers to give Caraxes the pig,

"You are the embodiment of beauty and grace to me, and I cannot help but be drawn to you. The moment I lay eyes upon you I could feel the passion brewing between us, my love. I do believe that the gods themselves must have created you for my own enjoyment, though I would rather have you all to myself and not share you even with my own dragon." he smirked, "you shall utterly be all mine once we are made man and wife. There shall be nobody that can come and steal you away from me, or the gods themselves will hear of my anger my dear."

“I can’t wait till we’re married Daemon,”

“I can’t wait either Y/n,” He cooed, 

[pursuitseternal]

“A Night with the Ascendant:” truths revealed and a delicious punishment is served

Ascended Astarion x F!OC (Lumina) |E| 5K

Summary: While the Master’s away, Lumina decides to take matters into her own urchin hands. Hooded and cloaked, she finds the book she seeks on the Lower City streets… but Lord Astarion finds her, too. She is willful and reckless and disobedient, and a fitting punishment is required.

CW: Grieving AA, Half-truths, manipulation, orgasm denial, Lumina fails her charisma and stealth rolls, “borrowing her bf’s clothing” for nefarious purposes, AA having too much fun for the first time in centuries.

Previous Ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 4…

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Lumina was everything he ever dreamed someone could be—beautiful, willing, submissive. It was so easy to give her that final ingredient to remake her in his image, to dominate her so thoroughly. It shouldn’t have even felt like manipulation or deception to that matter, she drank the chalice of his blood so eagerly. He remembered the deep scarlet stain on those satisfied lips, the aftertaste of his power in the richness of his blood that lingered on her tongue.

But if she was so entirely his… why did it bother him to no end? He missed that edge of control, to compel her and weave his way into her brain like the beautiful marionette she had been. Where control and order once dictated his life, now all was replaced with… whims and desire.

With her smiles and her guile and her intelligence and her willfulness.

He hadn’t counted on such willfulness. Even if it was to insist on calling him hero. Hells. Heroes didn’t live forever with unrivaled power, needing to spend eternity numbing the pain of life. Heroes laid peacefully in their graves when all was said and done.

Graves like the five cut headstones that spread before him. They had never been this quiet, not when they were alive. The silence of the graveyard grinded at his resolve, eroding that perfect veneer of power and control crafted over two glorious centuries. He was weak right now, remembering the way his eyes would hurt as they rolled back every time Gale rambled… or the edge of sassiness in Shadowheart’s voice when she was peeved… or even Karlach’s hyena call of a laugh.

Instead there was only silence, the growth of moss on their stone tombs, and the rot of time on their remains, the same uncheck grinding of time that had swept them away and left him. Alone. Unaltered and untouched.

For the first time in ages, he stood in the wash of their memories, the ghosts of their voices and laughter and criticism and ferocity. In a moment, he would steel himself over once more, return to that visage of power and dominance and untouchability. But for now, he stood in silent remembrance, his damnable beating heart feeling the sting of emotions he had worked so hard to banish. Loss… grief… affection… desire…

A flash of bright blonde hair and crimson eyes passed through his mind. A tug at their bond that she was somewhere in the city, somewhere up to mischief and no good… if she was this petulant and unruly, why did he love her…

Love.

Hells dammit. He had remade her into something new, something even he had yet to experience in his centuries of vampirism—his Bride. But what was it she was remaking him into now?

Hungry for him, she paced between her suites and his sumptuous chambers. But there was one thing for which she hungered more—knowledge. What in the hells was she?

Every few turns around the room, Lumina paused at the window of his bedchamber, its arching frame overlooking the gardens, and the Lower City beyond. Creeping ivy trellised its way up the ancient stone walls. Every one of her urchin instincts screamed to escape—to reclaim the sun and discover all she could about her new abilities, to try to uncover more about her hero, her tyrant, and her love. She needed information, research.

She needed books. Or at least one. One to unlock what strange transformation had taken place to grant her safety from the sun like him.

How many times had she touched that green leather-covered tome, The Curse of the Vampyr? If only she could run to any book seller, Upper City, Lower City, surely she would find that book or… better yet… one that detailed the tether of a Master and Spawn. Fingers itched, mind whirred. She needed to taste her freedom, to learn what he wouldn’t divulge. Perhaps he would be impressed by her ambition, perhaps he would punish her for defiance.

But he wouldn’t begrudge her that freedom in the sun, not after all that she had just read about his past. Not when it was the same sweet prize he had sought and won to become the magnificent lord he was now.

He could be gone for hours, for all day, she decided. Sharp crimson eyes darted to his wardrobes packed with clothing. Practical clothing. Pants and tunics and cloaks. Maybe just… a quick rummage. Her light, little fingers danced over the rows of his garments, hoping to find something not too ostentatious or decadent. Black velvet trousers tied snug above her hips, a black silken chemise that wouldn’t reveal too much of her breasts with that low-dipped v cut—she was ready to climb and find her quarry.

Shoes slipped off, she knew it would be an easier climb barefooted, besides it’s how she had spent most of her time on the streets anyway. One leg out the window, and Lumina held her breath, that sunlight on her skin invigorated her. It bathed her, warmed her pale skin for the first time in weeks… it made every vein beneath her alabaster skin glow blue, it heated her bones and made her feel alive again.

Free again.

Emboldened by her freedom, she gracefully scampered down the vines. It was so easy to do, so glorious. She smiled to feel her feet in the dirt of the garden and vault over the stone walls back into the bustling streets of the Lower City.

Drawing the hood of his black cloak up over her head, she slunk in the shadows, surely a sight to behold. A small little girl, dressed in a man’s rich robes, stalking around like the urchin she was at heart. Bodies brushed against her on all sides, the pulse of the City, the bustling pace and breakneck ignorance of its populace for urchins like her… it would be so easy now to steal what she wanted.

Giddy, gleeful even, Lumina let her fingers dance into some fat vendor’s pocket to take their purse. It was just so easy, instinctive. Just a bump and an apology, and sure as Balduran’s balls, she was now one purse richer. Maybe a little weapon too… she smirked, mischievous and greedy. Just another helpless victim, another bump into her side and a mumbled apology… and now Lumina’s cool fingers closed around an elegant filigree hilt. She tucked its scabbard into her makeshift belt before continuing on to the closest book cart.

Her deft eyes skimmed the titles from beneath the canopy of her hood. Gold letters glint in the sun, her sharp eyes darting over every spine.

There… she gave a sigh of relief, the title she sought gleamed at her, brighter than a prized jewel. Stepping back, she eyed the cart vendor, a plump, stinking man who looked more interested in drinking than reading. She could practically smell the stale ale on his breath and scent the alcohol that tainted his blood, even from her distance.

Shaking her head, she tried to rid herself of these hypersensitivities, drawing back a pace until she couldn’t smell him anymore. Gagging, she tucked the purse of gold in her pocket; a man like that would be much more fun to rob than to waste her newly acquired money on.

All she had to do was wait…

After a few moments, he got up, lumbering around the corner, and Lumina smiled. Her undead heart would be racing with the thrill of the hunt, that rush of risk and reward, of being victorious or being caught.

Slinking to the far side of the cart, she pulled out the small green book, her quarry. Her steady hand began to slip it under her cloak until….

“What do you think you’re doing?” that stinking, sour breath was hot in her face as the cart keeper snatched her wrist and spun her around.

“Fuck,” Lumina cursed as fear gripped her soul and raced down her spine.

Out of practice, Little Light… she swore she could hear his mocking laughter in her head. Fuck, what would the Master say, she worried as she was dragged into the street.

“You wretched, dirty rat,” the keeper yelled in her face, spittle flying in her face and he yanked back her hood. Arresting the book from her hand, he flung her against the alley wall. “No one steals from me!”

“I have no need to steal,” Lumina lied, even as she caught herself against the brick wall. “My master is Lord Astarion Ancunín, and he will not like having his things manhandled thus.” She snapped, wrenching her hand from the man’s grubby fingers

More spit flew in her face as the man laughed, big and loud and rude. “Yeah sure, some hoity Council Member let his servant run in the streets barefoot to fetch books for them….”

“I fear the lady is right,” a silken purr rumbled from behind them both. Astarion stood, perfect in posture and confident in stance. “My Mistress is prone to such wild fantasies, wandering the street unshod, fetching books on drivel from half-brined booksellers…” Astarion turned up his nose and grimaced as he too took in the foul odor of the rotund man. “Beautiful women have their indulgences, and we must allow them their indulgences. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Astarion smirked, his silver brow quirked high on his forehead as he dangled a fat coin purse at the seller.

“Of course, my Lord,” came the reply as his fat fingers snatched it midair. “Lord Ancunín, I didn’t mean to…”

A withering, crimson stare was all it took to send the fat man fleeing back into the shadows.

“Come, Lumina,” Astarion grabbed her upper arm, firm but with a sickeningly sweet smile, “it’s time we got you home.”

With one last ditch effort, she snagged the copy of her desired book from the seller’s cart, a victorious grin on her pale face as she followed her master into the City’s fray.

Her little arm threaded through his, he walked her towards the Park, his head held high as if the woman on his arm didn’t look like some barefoot vagrant. Finally, he drew them to a stop beside the fountain. His crimson eyes leveled at her, Astarion’s brows furrowed. “Was it worth it, Little Light?” he asked, cold and yet casual in tone.

Lumina fought the urge to tremble. “My little shopping spree?”

“Thieving spree, you mean…” his brow quirked as he pulled out the purloined objects of her own efforts from his own pockets.. He pulled out her purse, her book, and her new little dagger carefully with a wicked, conceited grin, watching in amusement as she patted the places on her lithe, little body from where he had stolen them. “A rogue’s dexterity is not to be outmatched, no matter how desperate or eager you are…”

“Please give those…” she wanted to say more, but his other hand flew towards her face, planting a single finger over her lips.

And Lord Astarion smiled. “Ah ah,” he chided, “explain yourself first, and your punishments may be lessened.” His voice rippled with promise, a teasing and yet desirous tone lacing into his words. “Why does my newborn mistress, a spawn of several weeks now, need to conduct some… research of her own kind?” He set the purse and dagger in his pockets, flipping the pages of the little green book. Pausing, he locked eyes with her, licking his finger first, slow and deliberate, before turning to the next one. “What are you so eager to learn that you could not dare to ask your beloved Master?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she braced her hands on her hips, head tilting up at him in a show of confidence. “I walk in the sun, I can smell things… hear things… I couldn’t before.”

“Such as?” came his nonchalant reply.

“That oaf for one, I could almost taste the effects of his tenday long bender,” Lumina tried not to wretch at the memory. “And then there was the moment where I heard your voice inside my head…”

Something in his gaze shifted, something veiled now lifted, as if he was also surprised. “Indeed,” he purred, thumbing another page of the text. “And you decided to be disobedient and break my rules to seek out this uninformed drivel?” He scoffed, “Not to mention violating a few laws for good measure?”

“If you just gave me answers, Master; if you just gave me my own coin and a dagger, I wouldn’t need to steal them.”

“Oh, pet, I can deny you nothing,” he purred, “unless you might end up harmed in the process. You’re fortunate I stumbled upon you when I did, Lumina, or else you would be rotting in some Flaming Fist cell by now….”

“Pugh,” she folded her arms, that stare growing more defiant. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Astarion couldn’t hide it anymore; his chuckle rumbling in the air between them. It was undeniable, her petulant spark, it made him grin just slightly, that youthfulness that he would have once been drawn to, instead of seeking a way to snuff it as he had done for centuries as Ascendant.

Perhaps he would indulge this spark, just a little more.

A wry look on his face, he extended the book towards her. “If you want it, it’s yours, but in exchange, you’ll be punished, my dear.”

Lumina narrowed her crimson eyes, weighing the cost. She smirked to flash her own fangs, “Alright, I’ll bite.”

Astarion rolled his eyes at her cheap humor. “Puns are beneath us, Lumina,” he scoffed, irascible in tone. “Perhaps I shall extend your punishment for such plebeian humor.”

“And just what will be my punishment?” she goaded, thumbing her way through her hard-won prize. “Once I finish my research, that is…”

“You’ll have your answers, but they aren’t found in that layman’s examination of vampiric bonds. You are a near-secret of our kind, and just as there has never been a Vampire Ascendant before me, there has never been a creation quite like you before.” His eyes darkened with lust and glimmered with impatience. “And there will never be another like you after, I promise.”

Then, his fangs glinted as he grinned wider. “But those answers will only come once I’m through with you. You wish to know your punishment?” He leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “I'm going to make you scream my name until your voice gives out, Little Light.”

His form seemed to ripple, and with a snap of his fingers, they both burst into mist and flew from the Park.

A strange tingle on her skin, or what would have been her skin, coursed through her. Pure magic unmade her, shifted her until all that remained was essence. Wind rushed around her, the sounds of voices and the smells of the Park rushed past her consciousness. It was as if her very being was cradled in his arms. Astarion pushed into her, threading into the very fabric of her existence—everywhere, all at once. Inside her, on her, through her… nothing more tangible than the sensation of his power taking root at her core as he raced them both up his palace walls and into the window of his own chambers.

Gasping like one near-drowned, Lumina once again stood on her own two legs, on her own bare feet, facing his crimson stare of ire.

She winced, surely, he would be brutal, beat her and punish her for her insolence. He would make her scream, he promised, the thought of it making her back sting in anticipation of a lash.

As her old master would, she thought with a pulse of fear and disgust.

Astarion’s presence before snapped her out of that pit of self-loathing. For now, he just tilted his head and gave her that lazy, mischievous smirk. Long, skilled digits grasped her hand, pulling her against him to bring her finger into his mouth. With precision, his fang sliced into its pad, his tongue sucking the blood as it seeped. “Such sticky fingers need cleaning,” she heard him say, right into her mind, his mouth preoccupied and his eyes flashing a dangerous amusement at her shocked expression.

“What in the hells…” she gasped, the thought somehow making him smile around her bleeding digit.

“Oh, darling mistress, seems you have more and more to uncover by the second,” he purred, his voice now a caress in her mind, a tender brush up her spine to tingle her ear. He pulled his finger from her lips with a pop. His true voice was almost sticky with that ripple of danger and the lingering dregs of her blood. “But first, we must see to your punishment, my Light, as delicious as it might be.”

His grip on her waist was firm, guiding her towards his bed again. His teeth glinted as he grinned, that dark mischief shining in the crimson of his eyes. “By rights, you should be cuffed in a cell for thievery. I should know, I once, long ago, gave such sentences for urchins like you.”

Lumina caught it, just a glimpse, a far off look in his eyes, a dower frown, his mind recalling pieces of him so deeply buried by time and pain. Somewhere in her own chest, she could sense that grief, that ancient, nearly-forgotten longing. Then he turned away, and the feeling vanished.

“As your Master, I shall have to take matters into my own hands, I suppose,” he commented, reaching into his drawer, the one where he kept all sorts of things for play and punishment, Lumina knew. She heard his choice before seeing it, the heavy clanking of chains filling her with excitement and dread. “A nice pair of shackles will do, nothing elegant for my little thriving urchin of a mistress.” He rounded on her, the irons in his skilled fingers. “You know what to do, darling,” he just stared at Lumina, a challenge of a smirk on his full lips, eyes darting towards the bed.

Pausing, she waited for the tendrils of his compelling to take root, sought that shadowed presence to command her body, but they never did…

“Well, darling?” he just repeated, firmer and more agitated.

Lumina drew in a breath and moved to sit at the edge of the bed, her wrists in front of her, a smile growing on her face. He shed his decadent coat, his own silken shirt following to lie in a mess on the floor. His boots followed the same fate. “Now, Lumina, you seem rather youthful, bent on willful defiance, this need to discover who I once was and who you are now. Stuff of fools and children.” A chilling smirk on his lips, his eyes still sparked with a sense of mischief, the same she had found with increasing frequency in their fucking. “Since you insist on acting like a child, let’s play a game,” he smirked. “I will ask you a question, a simple one… and if you are correct, I’ll let you find your release…”

The implication as to her failure hung in the air, his hand firmly guiding her to lay in the center of his bed. Her shackles clanked as he drew her arms overhead and bound them to his headboard. His chuckle reverberated in her bones as he leaned to press a kiss on her pressed lips. “Now, here is your question… what are you?”

“If you had let me read my book…” she started to argue, but Astarion just shoved two fingers in her insidious mouth. His gag as effective and sudden, her tongue pressing against him, fighting for breath as he pumped his fingers slightly between her lips.

“Hush,” he smirked at her, condescending and delighted. “You are allowed one answer each time,” his smirk twisted all the darker, “and you just used your first one…” His hands splayed wide on her hips, pulling her taut against her restraints. Fingers dug into her ass, lifting her to rip off his own loosely fit trousers. Her pale legs writhed, rubbing together to already seek the friction she craved. “Ah ah,” he corrected with a low growl, “I’ll be the one to dole out your delicious punishment. Now hold still and take what’s coming to you.”

With that, he lifted her hips up, his mouth ready to lick her and devour that already dripping essence. Tongue parting through her folds, he lapped through her seam, teasing her, toying as he licked and sucked everywhere between her thighs but her hard little bud and her clenching channel.

“Master…” she whined.

He lifted his head slowly, eyes blown wide and dilated as he chuckled. “For what you are, my Light, you get the privilege of screaming my name as you beg and plead.” His tongue danced along the edge of her folds, sucking and nipping the flesh of her thighs until she bucked hard against him.

“Astarion…” she whined, nervous at first, as if unsure she truly had his permission for it.

“Louder,” he crooned his order, letting his breath alone tickle her clit.

“Astarion,” she whined full-throated this time, making him chuckle.

“That’s it, darling, you’ll grow sick of my name on your lips, soon enough, but for now, let’s drive you right to the edge….”

“Fuck!” she cursed, unable to hide her urchin-tongue as his finally swiped over her clit. Relentless, he swirled around it at last, making every nerve ending between her thighs burst into flame. She could feel her wetness leaking, summoned more by every pass of his mouth over her entrance.

But never in it.

“Please,” she yanked on her restraints, “your fingers too, please…”

He merely laughed into her folds, letting his tongue swirl and vibrate against her clit until she was gasping above him.

Then he sat back up, wiping the arousal off his chin with the back of his hand.

Lumina groaned and writhed, that wave of climax once so close, vanished just as quickly. Her little noises of frustration from her pale throat made him chuckle. He rose to his knees, a sinister and delighted smirk on his face. “So close, weren’t you, my darling?” he chuckled again, fangs peeking from his parted lips. “Care for another guess in our little game?” He tilted his head, a hand running through his shoulder-length waves of hair. “What are you?”

“Your obedient, loyal, loving spawn, master,” she answered dutifully. She smiled as he crawled closer, pressing his clothed hips against hers as he lowered into her.

“Tch,” he sucked his teeth, “closer, but still shy of the mark.” He ground his hips against that sopping apex of her thighs. The thick velvet of his pants was soon soaked by her, but he just gave that low, rumbling laugh. “Another round of punishment then, my sweet.” He yanked her by the hair, pulling her head back, his lips brushing her neck where it curved just right for him. “And you forgot to use my name, dear. Not master. Not when it’s just you and me…”

That grinding between her legs made her eyes water, just enough friction to drive her wild, but still not enough. It made her ache. Made her burn. Made her stare up into his face with utter desperation in her own crimson eyes as a few tears dripped down. “Astarion,” she whimpered, more pathetic sounding than she wished.

“Well, when you sound that remorseful, what kind of Sire would I be to deny you some of what you seek…” he crooned, an edge of victory in his voice, a shine of amusement in his gaze. Deft and quick, he unbuttoned his trousers, a low chuckle as he watched her strain against her shackles to watch. She practically drooled for him, her seam leaking in equal amounts of wet to finally feel that pressure inside her.

Gods, she was beautiful, wanting him.

“You’re so perfect, Lumina,” he growled, “and you’re so totally and utterly mine…”

Her shriek pierced the quiet of his palace, a heady mix in her tone of ecstasy and relief as he filled her to the hilt in one thrust. His breath was hot against her neck, his hands skating his nails down her sides, “But remember, my Light, you don’t get to come until I say you may…” His tone was venomous and playful, a promise and a dare all wrapped in the velvet notes of his voice. A slow, grinding pace he set, taking his time to savor every flutter of her walls. It would be quick, he grinned, letting his hips slowly roll into her, he didn’t have long to push her right to the edge once more….

“Think hard… my dear… just what are you?” his question rumbled in her ear, gravel in his voice making her shudder hard beneath him. He groaned, quickening his pace, his own need for release taking root. Easy, he warned himself, his eyes locked on her face, observing every clench of her jaw in bliss, every gasp she made as she grew closer and closer…

Just as her body began to buck and clench, his cock slipped out, his hand wrapped hard around it. His fist beating his length was good, but her cry of anguish was all the more exquisite, sending that burst of pleasure from his core to race through him as he came. Cum spewed out on her belly, her hips bucking and grinding before him as she bemoaned her fate.

“Fuck…” she cursed through clenched fangs, sweat dripping down her angelic face. “Balduran’s… balls…” she tried to clench her thighs together, but his hands pried them apart so easily.

That made him laugh, breathless and a bit exhausted through his open mouth. “Having met the legend myself, I doubt he would appreciate you speaking thus of his balls. And I certainly don’t approve of you speaking of anyone else’s either, pet…” his fingers stroked through her hair gently before giving her head a corrective yank. “My balls will just have to be enough for you for eternity.”

She stared at him, a mix of frustration and longing that set his heart racing again.

“Now, let’s try this question one more time for now, before I leave you to contemplate your choices, my love.” His gaze skimmed the sight of her half-naked in his bed, his own black silk shirt stained now from his seed and her sweat. “Think hard, my cunning Little Light, what… are… you?”

Lumina chewed her lip, her gaze flickering around his room, lost in thought as she considered her response wisely. “You said I was your… mistress… not your spawn, not your concubine…”

“That’s what I said,” he purred, sliding his fingers through his cum, gathering it on his fingers before he teased it into her folds. “My question, love, is what do you think you are now?” He let the slick sounds of his fingers inside her distract that train of thought she was clearly attempting to recover. “Well?” he insisted, catching her clit with his thumb and making her gasp another curse.

She seemed to relax, a serenity in her gaze, a softness around her mouth as she tilted her head most alluringly. “Yours… I’m yours,” she whispered, toneful and beautiful in its submission.

“Mmmm, a beautiful proclamation,” he crooned but withdrew his touch and stood from the bed, regardless. Flashing her a wicked smirk, he savored the look of devastation on her pale countenance. “While I thoroughly enjoy such a confession, it’s just… not quite the response I seek.” Fastening his trousers, he shrugged his shoulders, smiling twistedly like that arrogant bastard he truly was.

“Astarion, please!” she panted, wretched and devastated as she could only watch him depart.

He paused at his wardrobe, choosing a new shirt, sliding that crisp cream silk over his immaculate body as he turned one more time. “Don’t fret too long, my love. I’ll return soon. In the meantime, you can use your time wisely. Weigh your answers… Oh, and you can use this, if you can manage to open it, that is.” He tossed her that green-covered book, the title accusing her as it landed just within reach of her bound hands. The Curse of the Vampyre, indeed. He laughed merrily, low and rumbling in his chest. “I’ll see you later, I’m sure, darling.”

The thud of the door shutting behind him only spurred Lumina into action all the quicker. She would give him his answer and earn her release. Physically and carnally.

Hours it seemed creeped by, that little book her only distraction from the arch of her arms and the wet, lingering burn between her thighs. She awkwardly flipped pages, dropping it on her face from time to time when the shackles got in her way. Page after page revealed nothing new, and she cursed Astarion for being right, dreading how he would preen and gloat when she admitted defeat.

Food sources… seduction… vulnerabilities… that section no longer applied to her, she furrowed her brow. The creation of a spawn… the nourishment of her kind…

That made her hungry belly growl, and as if she wished it into existence, she smelled blood. The door creaked open, and Lumina fixed her gaze on the silver cup brimming with blood.

Only once that chilling laugh sounded from its bearer did Lumina glance at who held the cup.

“Morana,” she hissed fangs bared as she tried to hide her half dressed state.

“I just couldn’t resist the opportunity to replace a poor, freighted servant from entering the Master’s chambers to bring you your meal at his orders,” the tiefling’s dark eyes glimmered with hatred, her voice like vitriol as she sarcastically pouted and preened, “Is the Master’s Bride starving?”

“The… Master’s what?” Lumina went deathly still. There had been one line that book… the unknown characteristics of a Sire’s Bride or Groom. She had thought nothing of it an hour ago. “What did you just call me?”

[speckle-meow-meow]

Reader was taken kidnapped by Wally and taken to his world. But what Wally didn't expect is that all the other characters would start to remember memories with the reader as a child and discover the truth of their colorful world.

( Now it's up to you to decide what will happen! Will they help the reader get back to the real world or will they become so attached to the reader that it would help Wally keep them there with them FOREVER. )

Aww fuck anon you gave MEE control over an ending.... WELP LET'S SEE HOW THIS GOES BABY!!

𝑾𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒏'~

'Welcome home' was your favorite cartoon growing up, it was so bright and colorful something most children love.

One of your favorite things about the show was the characters talking to you.

One in particular was Wally darling. The resident artist.

He taught you to draw and paint.

Eventually years rolled by and the show shut down, but Wally and his friends remained. Their franchise and lives were left to surf the web, being uncovered and then forgotten by so many people.

But Wally's friends didn't mind because everytime someone would close their tabs, they would immediately forget who or what they were talking about and immediately go do something else.

But Wally. Wally would always remember. He remembered every child. Every adult. And every pet that he and his neighbors have seen.

And one special neighbor that he would never forget was 𝐲𝐨𝐮!

As the minutes passed with you scrolling through social media you discovered a website that was trying to somehow restore 'Welcome home'

You went to the website and saw the many people (puppets) that you grew up with.

You remember your mother recording some -if not all- the episodes of 'Welcome home's that aired. So you went to your attic and dig them up

You watched them all

And eventually Wally noticed you and remembered you...

His little neighbor all grown up

His bestest friend

He had to bring you into his world he couldn't lose you

Not again.

So that's what he did...

Now moving on to some of the characters povs of the situation:

Wally: obviously since Wally brought you here he'd never want to let you go, he wouldn't change his mind especially with homes influence

Frank: when you arrived in welcome home Frank was the first out of all puppets to gain memories of you, at first he'd be extatic to know that his little student was back. But he soon realized that it wasn't right to keep you here so he'd help you to leave.

Barnaby: Barnaby is the third to remember you because of how much fun you, Wally, and him had. Barnaby would try to help you escape but only a little bit since Wally keeps very close tabs on him.

Howdy: now our darling little Catapillar is another who would help you leave, he knows his morals and would risk it all to help his favorite employee.

Julie: now Julie is smart but dense at the same time, shes very excited to have another neighbor that she wouldn't even notice that you don't belong here. She's just glad to have her hair buddy back, so she probably wouldnt be a big help, but maybe just maybe if you were able to convince her (maybe with Franks help) you could get her on your side!

Poppy: poppy the worrywart of the crew she definitely remembers you, she would remember when you'd be covered in flour helping her bake. Due to how much of a worrywart she is she'd definitely keep you in their world so you don't get hurt so probably not the best person to go for help, but she is the nicest so if you arnt able to leave you can go to her and she'd comfort you.

Sally: Sally like Julie is very excited to have you back, she's not dense she knows your not from here but she's so excited to have someone else help her in the plays and what not, but like Julie you can probably talk her into helping you escape

And last but certainly not least Eddie: he's very Forgetful and also some what delusional. He wouldn't let you go, he wants to keep you there! He remembered you after a couple of days and remembers how much fun you both had!

Wally keeps all of his friends under a close watch some more than others, and home helps as well... Home probably influences Wally to do the things he does.

The best move is to gain wallys trust to go outside. The sad thing is, is that when you leave he always has an eye and ear out for you at all times. You'd probably have to talk to the others using notes, Wally can't see through others eyes nor can he see inside their houses so that's the best chance you'd have at escaping

𝐒𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫... 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐦𝐦𝐦?

𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲

𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤

𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐲

𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐝𝐲

𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐞

𝐏𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐲

𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞

𝐎𝐫

𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲?

𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝. 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠~ 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐦~...

{Thank you anon for requesting this! It was a joy to write. Sorry if it doesn't have everything or quite the ending you were expecting or just no ending at all I kinda went wild with this one! But as always hearts and reblogs are always welcomed along with questions, requests, and comments!!}

[bloodybigwardrobe]

before, in the shadows of a life that has long ceased to be your own, war was suits and uniforms, severe men and overworked mothers. war was looming large, approaching fast. war was terror lurking in the skies, a constant fear of the open air. war was everywhere; your brother and sister forever slighted by all things turned into luxury inside your home. and sure, you only remember the before once it turns into the after, but war—no matter the where of it all, you remember war.

war: standing tall, standing straight, standing with the weight of worlds borne on youthful shoulders; war: a shadow, a streak of vivid red and vicious gold; war: a man-turned-boy-turned-man.

war: steady arms that cling with welcome desperation, a rallying cry that makes your heart burn bright; war: a stumbling boy bearing skies that turn red before they ever find their blue. war: familiar like no other, from cradle to your shaking adult hands.

before-turned-after, you hear your mother—unsweetened tea, old perfumes, and factory oils scrubbed out with rationed soap—whisper to her friends about war. you sit on wooden steps—not stone, never stone in the after—and dig your nails into your shins. war, forever burning bright, sits at your back with the skies and the sword's edge. you lean to feel the shift in his breath, to remember that with everything lost, war remains.

she let the war in, your mother says in words tinted with war-weak drink. she lets war sleep on the same floor as her children, she confesses, like a wolf amongst sheep. you dig your nails deeper. war, his forehead against your back, sighs.

you know war best, cradle to the here and now. he wipes your tears with too-soft hands until you miss the swords and bows like the air inside your lungs. he brushes your sister's hair, listens to your brother with intent. war holds it together in the cracked marble that you've all become. war, warm and familiar, holds on tight.

when you start to wear your mother's old dresses, outgrowing your own, when you start to paint your lips a new shade of red, war's reflection almost cracks the fragile glass of your composure. he watches, looming, bearing the crimson skies like a gift rather than the curse it grew to be. his eyes—blue still, too blue for england clouds and england air—carry even more, a looking glass for worlds long closed to you and him. the curve of his smile makes you ache for string and wood, makes your fingers crave the weight of pulling it all taut. his shoulders are broad, his hands calloused again.

over your shoulder, your mirror shows a sword stained beyond repair. you ache with the wish for the battlefield. you fear it as you always did, even when you called it home. war, a rag in hand and shoulders straight, hums in tune with the memory of arrows loosened from your gentle hands.

you leave before the blood can reach your polished shoes.

——susan pevensie learns of ares, of atlas, of war on a horse. she weeps for the brother she finds in them.

[five-rivers]

Cracked Clay Cup Chapter 18

The last one!

@greatbigolhampuckjustforme

Clockwork leaned against one of the cool stone walls of his lair, eyes closed.  The months he had spent away amounted to little more than a blink in an unimaginably long life, and yet he was happy to be back.  

And happier still that Daniel was back with him.  

Oh, he would have been glad enough to have him safe in the Far Frozen or Pandora’s kingdom, that was true.  Frostbite and Pandora were easily and obviously the best of the applicants.  Jasmine wouldn’t have been a terrible choice, either.  

Still.  What he had wanted most of all, but had barely dared to hope for, was for Daniel to choose him.  

It was selfish, perhaps.  Clockwork had limitations, restrictions, that Frostbite and Pandora did not.  He was still beholden to the Observants, and he had duties to the timeline apart from that.  Daniel might certainly have a more peaceful life away from Clockwork.  

But he might have a more tumultuous one as well.  Clockwork had seen many paths, waiting for Daniel to return from his visits, many ways that time could unfold.  He had not been able to, and still could not, pick the one that was most likely.  There were timelines where Daniel returned to Amity Park, timelines where he spent his days in idyllic, peaceful Realms, timelines where he accompanied his new guardian or guardians to war, timelines where he grew up and moved away, timelines where he remained childlike forever, timelines where he fell into corruption and evil, timelines where he rose up, becoming even greater than he was now.  

There were too many variables for even Clockwork to begin to sort them out.  Anything could have happened.  

Including this.  

Clockwork let himself smile.  Neat braids of timelines spiraled out from this moment, all of them golden bright in the near future, even if some of them tarnished in the more distant future.  

Clockwork could avoid those.  He was sure of that.  

There was much to do before then.  Lessons needed to be arranged.  Jasmine, while far too zealous, hadn’t entirely been wrong about that.  And Clockwork should contact her sooner rather than later.  She was a good sister for Daniel, even if she wouldn’t have been a good parent.  Daniel’s things from the temporary house would need to be brought over.  Arrangements regarding Amity Park should also be made.  Daniel might not remember the place at all, outside of stories he’d heard from Vlad, Frostbite, and the like, but his normal affection for it was great.  And, on the subject of memory, Clockwork ought to look into ways to compel the Observants to return Daniel’s memories, or even call upon the doctors of the Far Frozen–

A soft sound stirred Clockwork from his musing, and he opened his eyes.  He had prepared a room for Daniel, against this very scenario, and his preparation had paid off.  Half hidden by gauzy curtains, Daniel laid in the large bed under star-patterned sheets and blankets, exhausted by the emotions and exertions of the day.  

Although, he wasn’t entirely under the blankets.  He had rolled over in his sleep and knocked his sheets askew.  

Clockwork flew forward, brushing the curtains aside, and tucked Daniel in.  He took a moment to pull some of Daniel’s hair out of his face as well.  It was getting long.  Perhaps they should think about braiding it.  

But doubtless Daniel would tease him if he knew that Clockwork was watching him so closely in his sleep, and rightly so.  As he had been thinking only moments before, he had much to do, and he had no desire to disturb Daniel’s rest.  Regretfully, Clockwork flew back, towards the door.  So many things to get ready…

He paused, though, before closing the door, watching Daniel sleep for a moment longer.  Watching his son.  

He smiled, a little more broadly than was his usual habit.  Everything was exactly how it should be.  

He closed the door, and, for the moment, left Daniel to his dreams.

He hoped they were good ones.

[toomanytookas]

The Gift

Dieter Bravo x f!afab!reader

Rating: 18+ only please

Summary: Dieter designs a special room for you in the house that you are building together.

Important note: This is set in the world of @schnarfer’s If Wishes Came True trilogy. If you haven’t read it (where have you been? Go! Read it!!) you will likely be a bit lost.

Word count: ~3k

Content: Angst and fluff, the angst is pretty much all in the past but we do sit with it for a while here (this is dedicated to Al, after all), consumption of food and alcohol, references to/presence of drugs but they aren’t consumed on screen, oblique references to the reader and Dieter's sexual proclivities, blink and you’ll miss it moment of smutty touching, lots more sensual and casual touch as well as kissing, swearing, bathing, cats, I wrote this for one person but she’s invited you to the party

A/N: A version of this fic was gifted to my beloved @schnarfer on the occasion of her birthday last week. It would have never actually been possible for me to have the confidence to send it to her and not just throw it straight in the bin without the very gentle hand holding of @pascalssbabyy (Beth, you are an angel).

I say a version because after being the most gracious recipient of a fic of her fic (wtf was I thinking?), Al not only encouraged me to share it more widely but was willing to give it a beta and helped to refine my attempt at an ode to her style into the much punchier, emotionally charged (we do love torturing our boy a bit...) thing you now have the opportunity to read. This is absolutely the product of two minds and I could not have had more fun working with her to reach this final version. Any remaining errors and weird bits are my own, feel free to lmk if you see anything funky. I hope you like it!

I don't know what it is about you that makes the bathwater blush, why I want to ask for your hand forever around my throat;

- Megan Falley, "Your Bathwater > Wine"

When Dieter adopted Chairman Meow from the shelter, the sign on the tom’s cage said he had been wandering despondently around the property his last owner had vacated, unable to stray far from the place where he had last known a comfortable life. Abandonment issues, the profile warned. Looking for a home that will provide constant affection.

Having been driven to the cattery by a deep yearning to be the centre of someone’s world, Dieter thought he recognised a kindred spirit. I’ll be your friend, bud. He stuck a thick finger into the mog’s enclosure and wiggled it against the soft fur. When the cat had budged up even closer in response, he knew that it was love.

After you left, when he would wake to that furry face rubbing against his chin, a paw tapping his cheek to ask to be let in under the covers, Dieter was grateful that he had someone who understood why—despite Pete’s encouragement—he could never quite go through with leaving that fucking fishbowl of a house for good. Not when he no longer had you.

The wretched, destructive thing that lived inside him conjured constant reminders of how your brightness had seeped into the very walls of the house. It dangled flashes of your smile in his periphery when he made his morning coffee, replayed echoes of your laugh when he reached for you in the middle of the night. They were glimpses of lost happiness that in those brief moments still radiated joy. The glow sometimes burned like hot coals, but he gathered every memory of you tightly his chest. The searing ache was worth it. Staying put was worth it. How else would he remember so clearly how much you had made his world come alive? And how else would you know how to find him when you decided to come back?

But when you did return to him, when you came home, Dieter’s dedication to remaining in that bastard house until his end of days vanished. He was climbing the walls to be rid of it as fast as humanly possible. Why would he want to stay there when it was a constant reminder of the destruction he had wrought? Without you the house was a lifeline, but with you it was a curse. It could never be the home he wanted to give you now that he had a second chance. Despite what his trusted energy worker suggested, a ceremonial disposal of the bed and a few rounds of sage burning would not have been enough to fix it.

So he called his realtor. Sold the house. Said goodbye to all its awful energy. Hoped that maybe all the worst versions of Dieter Bravo managed to be left there, trapped behind the glass. Waiting to be discovered and dealt with by whichever sad fuck bought that Hollywood house of mirrors, blissfully unaware of the demons they were to inherit.

The Dieter menagerie moved in to yours.

The Chairman and Dolly Purrton both quickly found their favourite new spots to snooze in puddles of sunshine, but as much as he longed to join them, Dieter could never quite settle.

The longer you shared the space and began to rebuild some of the trust and respect that needed to layer on top of your burning, incandescent love; the clearer it became that your house was also too haunted.

There was too bitter an aftertaste on both your tongues whenever you would pull into the drive, remembering the pleading eyes of past Dieters who had turned up unannounced at all hours of the night begging for forgiveness, desperate for a second chance. It was too jarring, the pangs of Dieter’s jealousy over plastic, perfect Brandon, who once upon a time happily wandered those halls, pressed you hungrily against those doorframes, laughed with you over a lovingly prepared dinner made in that kitchen. What a fucking prince.

The discomfort of it all, the continued haunting that he had thought escaping his former house would resolve, left Dieter lumbering through the house, wrapping himself in a moveable den of blankets and keeping a hand braced against his tummy or a cat cradled to his chest in an effort to soothe the roiling thoughts.

After he spent a full week between shoots wandering despondently from room to room, only able to feel grounded when you were somewhere in the house, you put your foot down.

This was meant to be a second chance, D. Not us climbing back into the coffin. This house was no longer your home, you told him, if it was responsible for the tension in his jaw and the ache you felt when either of you found reminders of all the past hurt.

And so Dieter set out to build you both a house. A home that would reverberate with the joys of love and the laughter of friends, and never, ever know the monster inside him that he was working so hard to put to rest. A sanctuary for the two of you, tucked against the hills in an area where the neighbours don’t care a single bit who either of you are, only that you look out for the community and pitch in a baked good or two for the annual block party.

It’s the house of your dreams because it represents your shared commitment to making a life together. It’s the house of his dreams because, somehow, you want to live there with him.

Given a blank check, the architect and interior designer work with the two of you to identify the exact touches that will make you feel beyond comfortable. The kind of upgrades that aren’t flashy, but make enjoying the pleasurable things in life even easier.

The new bed feels like you’re being cuddled by the softest clouds. You spend your free mornings tucked in under the covers together, letting him sneak peeks over your shoulder as you gleefully trade quips with your friends and read the naughtiest and most delicious smut before rising to start your day.

There’s a gas fireplace that can be lit at a moment’s notice when you want to curl up in one of the the divine plush chairs, which you picked out together after spending an afternoon in a high-end showroom, half focused on which were the most comfortable to read in, half on which could reliably sustain both of your weights in motion.

These are just a couple of your favourite things amidst a near embarrassment of riches. They make you feel as though you’ve won the lottery, and the lottery’s name was Dieter (just Dieter, your dear love Dieter, no Bravo in sight).

Picking out features and facets for the house was so much a shared project between the two of you—the thing you could work on through trading pinterest boards and voice notes, even when projects kept you physically apart—that it was a bit of a surprise when Dieter informed you that there was a room he wanted to build that he wasn’t going to share the details of. Not until it was done.

He took infinite pleasure in making a big show of the secret, whipping out a blindfold that may or may not have originated from your toy chest when you were set to do walkthroughs during construction, curling his broad body around you and nudging you forward with one foot and then the other until the room was far enough away from view that he could restore your sight without worry of ruining the surprise.

It’s going to be magnificent, angel, he would breathe gleefully against your ear.

The contractors were always thankfully far enough ahead of you that you didn’t feel embarrassed by the heat that flooded your face at the tickle of his words and the firmness of his chest against your back.

You had some sense of what the room might be. Dieter wouldn’t reject your idea for a vintage-inspired clawfoot tub in the master unless he was going to make it up to you somewhere else in the house. He knew how much of a comfort a soak in the bath was for you, there was no way he was going to deny you the luxury in your own home.

But what exactly this room looked like remained a mystery. Sometimes a package would arrive that he would eagerly squirrel away behind that closed door, disappearing for a while to set up whatever newest addition he had imagined on the road to perfection. Piece by piece, Dieter was building a dream, one that he specifically dreamed of for you.

In the meantime, the two of you moved into the house and set about truly making it your space, fit to burst with the vibrancy of your lives.

There was nothing like being able to wind down from the heights of the energy on set, the frenetic hustle that you loved so much but demanded that you be at a constant eleven.

Nothing like ending a chillier evening by the fire. Your feet tucked under the fluff of the Chairman’s rotund rump where it was perched on Dieter’s lap, your thumb idly tracing the drops of condensation on a bottle of cider.

Nothing like welcoming friends at the weekend for a hearty roast and glowing conversation, getting to show off the fruits of your beautiful gas range and indulge in the delight of warm bellies and full hearts.

Nothing like your Dieter, flush with a new aura of happiness and love and the therapy-influenced acceptance that he was allowed to have all of this, to have you, to know joy.

On the night of your birthday, when your body and head already feel floaty from a delightful evening featuring a steady flow of cocktails and sushi, Dieter sneaks away as you are bidding goodbye to your final guests.

Once the last of your friends are out the door, he places a pair of oversized scissors in your hands and herds you like an eager collie over to the soon-to-no-longer-be-secret room. There’s a velvety ribbon across the door and he has you make the ceremonial opening cut before placing one of his warm palms over your eyes and the other at your sternum, holding you to his chest and guiding you both over the threshold.

You feel a wall of steam envelop your body and your heart leaps with anticipation. Your bathtub. You were right.

Dieter removes his hand, “Open your eyes, angel.”

Immediately, your vision is flooded with ochre and gold. Candles flicker playfully on almost every possible surface, their dancing light filling the room.

It is clear to you right away that this oasis will become a peaceful near holy space, a sanctuary that you can retreat to when you need to shut out the rest of the world. Despite the many, many acts of sin that are bound to occur inside these four walls, there is something bright and pure about the energy that Dieter has curated.

Lush ferns and orchids are mounted to the walls, bound to flourish in the tropical climate that the frequent steam will create for them.

There are massive geodes of your favourite crystals that sparkle on pedestals, radiating deep energy and glistening in the candlelight.

Two skylights open the room up so you can see the heavens, as though from your watery cocoon you might be able to ascend to the stars.

The bath itself is cavernous, currently filled nearly to the brim and softly crackling with lush bubbles that are being stirred by what you assume must be underwater jets.

On the far wall, Dieter has painted an abstract mural that makes you think of the moments of calm that you feel when he wraps you in his arms after a long day. Soft, warm, safe.

As he follows your gaze, eager to ingest your every reaction, he directs you to look at the title that he’s lettered just next to his signature.

Angel’s rest.

Your eyes are misty, “Oh, D. It’s magic.”

“Everything for my girl. Everything.”

His voice cracks slightly through the whisper, his hands come to your waist to turn you in his embrace, strong eye contact boring into your soul with the depth of how very much he means those words, beyond this gift, beyond this house.

You have to kiss him. Your heart can’t take not fusing your mouth to his in this moment.

It’s a soft kiss, a tender kiss, one you could bask in from now until the end of time. It makes you so bright with love.

You can’t help but let your lips curve into a grin. You think he must be able to feel your cheek muscles twitch from how widely you are smiling against his lips.

He breaks from you, but immediately returns once, twice, and then presses a quick and cheeky peck against your jawline.

“Come, angel. Before the water gets too cold.”

Slowly, reverently, he helps you slide your sparkling birthday dress over your shoulders and down to the floor. Pressing gentle, open mouthed kisses to your collarbone and lace-covered breasts as each inch of you is revealed.

He kneels before you to remove your panties. As soon as they are at your knees, he nuzzles his face against your mound, the tip of his nose nestling against your clit.

Fuck.

You hear him exhale happily when your stance softens, hands ghosting up and down your thighs, but instead of taking his first taste of your cunt for the evening, he draws back and tips his head toward the bath.

Pouting, you nod and let him help you out of your slippers, large hand cupping each ankle in turn. When your bare feet touch the floor, you can tell that there is some sort of heating system beneath the tile. It’s heaven.

You grasp his forearm for balance as you ascend the steps and then slide into the steaming hot water of the bath. You let your grip linger, playing with the flexing muscle that you feel ripple as he wiggles his fingers playfully. He knows you're a bit loony for the feel of his powerful arms.

Then he's pulling away from you again.

Despite the near-trance the water and this moment is sending you into, you let out a soft squawk of disapproval.

"Just for a minute, angel. I want to go get your present."

More gifts? Well, an indulgent Dieter is often the happiest Dieter and it is your birthday. And Dieter firmly believes that birthday girls deserve to have some lovely treats.

You let yourself doze, still tipsy and buzzing from the joys of the night, cradled by the bubbles and the soothing warmth of the water. The next thing you know, gentle but thick fingertips are lightly dragging their way from your knee to your hip and then up the flesh of your stomach, a mild and delicious friction. Before those fingers can reach the swell of your breast, your hands come up to halt their journey. Intertwining your fingers with his, you bring Dieter’s now somewhat bubble-covered hand up for a kiss, avoiding the worst of the soapy aftertaste by pressing your lips high on his pulse point.

When you make eye contact, his gaze still looks wild with love.

"Relaxed, angel?"

"Ever so."

You look over at him and find he's set a tray down on a bar cart that has appeared from somewhere in the room. On it, a box of four pralines from your favourite chocolatier, a chilled bottle of champagne, and a joint resting on the edge of a beautiful glass ashtray. It must be new because its colours are too perfect to not have been picked out lovingly by Dieter to match the room.

You sit up slightly. Happy birthday to you, indeed.

"May I join you?" The reverence in his voice feels it’s been magnified by the room.

"We've talked about this, baby. Water makes for horrible lube."

"I just want to cuddle with my birthday girl."

This Dieter, so tender, so vulnerably in love in a way that he never let himself be before you. You sense in this moment that he truly feels he needs permission to be allowed to just be in your space for a while, a hesitance fueled by past regrets and insecurities that even the promise and protection of this new house have not fully squashed. No matter. You are more than happy to affirm just how welcome in your arms he will always be.

You smile, nodding sleepily, and he sheds his clothing. You're so relaxed, so enveloped in warmth, that you almost forget to admire his bare body as he climbs in to join you. Almost. Thank goodness the part of your brain that always wants him, is always drawn to his form, isn't actually taking a holiday so you can admire.

When he's settled with his back against the side of the bath, Dieter pulls the cart over so that everything is in reach. He pops the champagne, handing you a glass, then brings one of the chocolates to his mouth, holding it in his teeth and wriggling his eyebrows playfully in a suggestion for you to take it from him.

You giggle and indulge him, using your hands to grip the edge tub on either side of his body and pull yourself through the water until you are practically chest to chest, nose to nose. Too close for true eye contact, but you can't help but pick one of his eyes to focus on, letting yourself go a bit crosseyed to try and send him every wonderful thing you have been feeling this evening directly through your gaze.

Slowly, gently, you close the remaining distance and bite the praline in half, letting your lips drag against his as the chocolate begins to melt on your tongue. It's perfectly bitter and smooth.

Dieter consumes the rest.

"Mmm. A not too sweet for my not too sweet."

The snort that leaves your body firmly disrupts the headiness of the moment, the exhalation forming a crater in the bubbles and making you further devolve into giggles when you have to bring a hand up to brush away a clump of the soapy fuzz that sticks to his cheek.

You press your forehead against Dieter's damp shoulder and feel the rise and fall of it as he joins you in mirth, arm coming up around you so you don't slide away from him as you once again relax into the water.

As the wave of laughter subsides, your breathing synchronizes with his and you let yourself soak in the quiet. A perfect christening of this tub. He presses a kiss to the side of your head.

"I love you, angel. Happy birthday."

[rain-soaked-sun]

Ill follow you Cw- mentions of dottores real name , death , canon violence , mention of torture , forced labor ( not explicitly stated but implied) ,bullying , illnessGn reader ( if pronouns are used please do tell)

The first time Zandik ever set eyes on you he had simply acknowledged your looks but quickly moved on , you were but another scholar in academia . Why should someone like him , someone who was above these menial humans he was supposed to see as his peers , pay any mind to you

That was only the first time he had seen you , he continued to see you around many times , carrying an array of books each time . As fate would have it one day whilst in the library you had made the mistake of asking him to help you reach a book as he was quite tall . Soon after that you would say hi to him , occasionally make conversation . Zandik had always been an outcast no matter went , when you came along and acted as if was just another student an odd feeling bloomed in his chest . It was interest , interest that soon spiraled into obsession .

At first he convinced himself it was well meaning , looking out for you . He could see the way you pushed around by other students , all the running around youd be doing constantly was due to the fact you always looking to make people like you , doing almost anything asked of you , wheter it be a paper or doing the notes so they could make their own and make it convincing enough . After all this time you considered him your friend , you trusted him , you admired the way he stuck to his ideals no matter how twisted and against the gods they were . You adored the fact he didnt manipulate you as everyone else had .

He became your guard dog and you his assistant , while he wasnt manipulating you he was twisting you , shaping you into a person who would follow him without question while remaining your own person , remaining as the person he had grown to have feelings for . Somehow you had wedged your way intot this cold mans heart and you had made yourself at home . after a year you two formed an interesting relationship . he often reassured you that the people who used to be your classmates that are now on a dingy operating table would only hurt you more if he allowed them live , and you believed him . His unconventional love had made you happy , despite the dark a cruel things Zandik had done he loved you , and you him .

After a tiresome day you had fallen ill , you were sweating through your clothes , your fever only getting worse at the hours went by , starting at a meager 101 and ending up at a 105 by the early hours of the morning , since Zandik had the proper training he tried to stabilize your condition as best he could , and he did for time . After about a week he had lost you , the oly thing that was worth anything to him other than his experiments was gone and forever , he would never have you in his arms again .

The next time you two had met you were 17 , you belonged to a poor family in Sneznaya and were severely indebted to the fatui . He had only been a harbinger for about a decade , it had been about two decades since he had last seen you , and even in this new form he could still reconize that glint in your eyes , despite how hard people pushed you down the bright almost innocent gleam in your eyes. You had been slaving away for the fatui , getting constantly thrown around by agent and harbingers a like . Only a few months of this and you had finally been assigned to him . When you two locked eyes for the first them it was like two worlds collided.

Every memory had come flooding back in vivid detail , you had always felt disconnected from the life you led , yet you could never put a finger on it til now . Your first memory , the first time you met Zandik , when you fell sick …..when you died . The good doctor took you in , you being his assistant. He took care of you , taught you things and caught you up on all you had missed, but fortune had never been on his side .

After 5 painfully short years an experiment had gone wrong and the creature had grown hostile , unbeknownst to you, you had walked into the room it was being kept it . Unfortunately it’s was not a quick death , no god showed you mercy in yoru final moments , you had died without ever seeing your beloved for the last time.

Zandik felt as if the gods were fucking with him , his sanity and every part of him , in your next life he made the decision to not interfere and watch you from afar in hope to spare you from almost certain death . Even then he could save you . The mad doctor helpless to save you no matter if you were with him or not , each time you died so young .

Finally he had made up his mind , he would find and do whatever it took to keep you safe , whether he had to make you a test subject willingly or not , he would give you a artificial body , he would lock you up . All he knew is he could not lose you time and time again , as much as he hated to admit it , it was slowly killing him from the inside out .

The next time he found you he wasted no time snatching you up , before you even had time to process what had happend he married you . No one would dare mess with a fatui harbinger especially The Doctor , and only a fool would dare lay a hand on his lover . For the first time the gods listened to his prayer and you lived, you grew significantly older than any other life.

Although he had wanted you to live a normal life he was selfish and he knew this. He wasn’t above doing what had to be done to keep you by his side but he never imagined you’d be on the same table countless people had been tortured and murdered on . He would burn the world down if it meant keeping you . He knew he was far gone when it came to you and he accepted it with open arms , before he met you he thought love made people weak , after you died he thought the same . Now you were the thing that gave him drive and he would not lose you ever again , never.

[marjansmarwani]

duality of a day

2.7k || ao3

Carlos Reyes had a complicated relationship with his wedding anniversary. 

----

Hi, hello. It's been over a year, but I finished something. Enjoy!

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Carlos Reyes had a complicated relationship with his wedding anniversary. 

It wasn’t a fact he was proud of, but it was undeniable. On the one hand, he loved TK, and he loved being married to TK. It had almost been an entire year and he still couldn’t say the word husband without smiling. In so many ways that day had been one of the best days of his life. 

But in so many others, it had been one of the hardest. It was a wonder his heart hadn’t succumbed to the pressure of trying to feel so many things at once: the love that filled every part of him when he looked at TK across the altar, the bliss that washed over him when he was finally pronounced his husband. It was magical, and Carlos would cherish every second of that memory for the rest of his life. 

And yet, that memory was only completely happy if he didn’t focus on what was missing. 

Every single thing about that day had been perfect; a fairytale he had been writing for himself since childhood come true. Everything, except for the one person that wasn’t there. 

Growing up a part of Carlos had always wondered if there was a chance he would get married without his parents there to see it. He had pictured all sorts of horrific reactions to him coming out and until it happened, the possibilities had haunted him. Even once that hurtle had been cleared he had never felt fully convinced; worried that the act of him marrying another man would be too much for them and that when the time came, they wouldn’t be there. 

When the actual day came a small, desperate part of Carlos almost wished that had been the case. Knowing his dad wasn’t there because he didn’t approve would have been so much better than the truth. Knowing his dad was out there somewhere, choosing to not be there was better than knowing that he was gone for good and that Carlos would never see him again. 

Sometimes in his memories, he was there; standing next to Carlos as he should have been: handsome in the tux he died in, smile wide and eyes bright with emotion as he handed Carlos the ring. 

In that way, he preferred the imagined version to the real thing. 

But in every other, there was no changing the day that it had been. He declared his love for TK in front of all their family and friends and made a vow to spend the rest of his days with him — even if recent events had shown him just how short that very well could be. He had been hugged by more people than he could name, and the song that TK had asked Tommy to perform for him touched his soul in a way nothing else ever had, or likely would again. It was so perfect, and yet it wasn’t. 

So yeah, Carlos had a complicated relationship with his anniversary. 

He knew that TK was aware. As the first one drew near his husband approached the topic as one might a spooked horse. 

“Our anniversary is in two weeks,” he had told Carlos as if the date hadn’t been forever ingrained in his brain, “what do you want to do?” 

Immediately Carlos wanted to deflect and just echo the question back to his husband. But he couldn’t bring himself to, because it felt like the wrong question. Maybe the better one was 'which anniversary?'

So he remained quiet in the wake of the question and TK rushed on, “We can do whatever you want,” he assured Carlos, “even if that’s nothing.” 

At this, Carlos looked up from his plate and met his husband’s eyes across the table. “You’d be okay ignoring our first anniversary?” He asked, voice tinged with an incredulity he couldn’t shake. 

“Carlos,” TK replied, setting down his fork and giving his husband his full attention, “every day with you is special, I don’t need to celebrate just one of them. Plus,” he added as Carlos smiled at his words, “I understand what you might be going through and I know it’s not easy.” 

And Carlos’s smile fell at the reminder that TK had experienced this form of loss as well. It just wasn’t fair, not for either of them. “It feels wrong,” he said by way of replying, “to celebrate that day, considering what happened a few days before.” 

TK nodded understandingly but didn’t say anything, and Carlos took that as a sign to keep talking. 

“What’s worse is I know what he would say,” he told TK wryly. “He would tell me to not let him ruin our day, that we deserve our happiness, everything else be damned.” He paused to swallow down the tears that threatened at the thought, “Which then leads to me thinking that I can’t help but disappoint him, no matter what. I’m just too soft, again. 

The dining room echoed with heavy silence as he stopped talking. He turned his eyes to his plate, not sure what he would see in his husband’s eyes but unwilling to find out. 

“Carlos,” TK said softly, “you know your dad never thought that. He was proud of you – all of you. Big heart and all.” 

“I know,” Carlos replied, voice barely a whisper. “But I spent so long thinking it, it’s hard to forget it.” 

There was the sound of a chair scraping against the floor and the next thing Carlos knew TK was behind him, leaning over and wrapping his arms around Carlos’s shoulders. He closed his eyes and leaned into the embrace gratefully. “I know what it’s like to have things you regret in your past,” TK said after a few more moments of silent embrace, “and I know what it’s like to feel that you’ve disappointed your parents in ways they can never forgive. But I was wrong about that; they always found a way to forgive me because their love for me was stronger than the worst things I had done.” 

Carlos let TK’s words wash over him, trying not to picture a younger version of his husband young and scared that he had lost his parents’ love forever. It was easy, because when he closed his eyes he could see himself in that position instead: awkward and seventeen at the kitchen table, spilling his greatest secret and waiting for the pin to drop. But TK was right; it hadn’t been the end. It may have been rocky and there may have been years of silence that Carlos would never forgive himself for, but eventually they had cleared the air and it turned out that the love had always been there; strong and unconditional. 

“I may not have been there for all of it,” TK continued, “but I was there for enough to tell you with absolute certainty that your dad loved you so much. And that he was so, so proud of you. You’ve never disappointed him, and he would hate to hear that you think you ever could have.” 

“When did you become such an expert on my dad?” Carlos asked wryly, deflecting away from the rush of emotions that flooded him. 

“Did you think you had the monopoly on father-in-law adventures?” TK asked incredulously. “You and my dad aren’t the only ones that went on a secret rescue mission together. Turns out there’s a lot of time to talk while you’re waiting for stuff to happen, and there was only one topic. That, and we used to meet up for lunch once in a while.”

So much about that day he has been kept prisoner in a stranger’s kitchen was hazy, but he did distinctly remember when he came to that it was his dad and TK there with him, wearing matching looks of relief as his dad wrapped them both in a hug that Carlos wished had never ended. More than anything he wished he could feel his father’s embrace one more time, but the memory would have to do. 

“I know you’re right,” Carlos admitted. “But sometimes I think it’s easier to focus on the doubts than how much I miss him.” 

TK hummed in understanding and squeezed his arms around him one more time before he pulled himself away and moved to the chair next to Carlos. “Do you trust me?” he asked, and Carlos raised an eyebrow. 

“More than anyone,” he replied without hesitation, but he couldn’t shake a sense of suspicion. “Why?” 

“Because I think I have an idea for our anniversary, if you’re okay with me making the plans alone.” 

“No big parties or anything,” Carlos instantly objected, “but other than that, sure. I trust you, and it’s your anniversary too.” 

TK smiled softly and reached across to squeeze Carlos’s hand, “Yes, and it will always be one of my favorite days, but this one is about more than just us.” 

That was true, Carlos thought as TK began to clear the plates. Their anniversary marked many things. It was the day they had been united in marriage just as much as it was a day of mourning, but it also marked a day of healing. It had been a day for their family, both blood and not, to come together and celebrate life and love in the wake of such a monumental loss. There were empty seats where significant people should have been, but the love that had filled the space had helped to close those gaps a little. 

But all of that didn’t exactly instill confidence that there wouldn’t be a party waiting for him when he got home that night. He didn’t think he was quite ready for that yet. 

The day arrived with the same mixed feelings of joy and grief that had been haunting him since the start. As he opened his eyes he was immediately treated to the sight of the soft morning sun across TK’s face, and the love he felt for his husband filled him all over again. He reached out a hand to brush some of the dark bedhead splaying across TK’s forehead back, causing him to stir. When he opened his eyes, Carlos smiled at him. “Good morning, husband,” he greeted, echoing the words he had spoken the morning after their wedding. 

“Good morning to you too, husband,” TK replied, a soft smile spreading across his face. “And happy anniversary. One year in, any regrets so far?” 

“None,” Carlos replied with certainty, leaning over to give the other man a kiss lest there be any lingering doubts. “You?” 

TK pretended to consider for a moment before laughing at Carlos’s affronted look. “None,” he echoed, reaching across the space of their bed to grab Carlos’s hand and wind their fingers together, turning their hands so their matching rings caught the morning light. 

“Do I get any hints about what you have planned for tonight?” Carlos asked and TK shook his head. 

“Nope,” he replied almost gleefully and Carlos couldn’t help but feel suspicious. “All you need to know is to be here by 7.” 

“Should I bring anything with me?” 

“Just yourself,” TK replied. “You’re all I ever need.” 

Carlos smiled again, wondering not for the first time how he had gotten so lucky. “7 it is then,” he confirmed before closing the distance between them with another kiss. 

At promptly 7 pm he arrived at his front door, work bag slung over his shoulder and a bouquet in his hand. He paused for a moment, wondering wildly if he should knock or just let himself in, but the decision was made for him when their door slid open to reveal not his husband, but his mother. 

“Mom?” he exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” 

“ Tranquilo , Carlitos,” she replied in a soothing tone, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. “Everything is fine. TK invited us.”  

“Us?” Carlos asked, suspicion rushing back as he stepped through the doorway. But inside was not the crowd of people he had been fearing, but a table set for four and Owen Strand beside TK at the counter. Before he could ask any follow-up questions TK was at his side, greeting him with a kiss that took his mind off any of the questions he had meant to ask. “Hi,” he greeted when they broke apart. 

“Hi,” Carlos replied, still a bit dazed. “So this is your plan.” 

“Yes,” TK replied, suddenly nervous. “Do you like it?” 

“Depends,” Carlos replied, “I’m not entirely sure what is going on yet.” 

“Come here,” TK commanded by way of explanation and pulled him towards the dining room. The table was set for 4 as Carlos had observed upon entering, but what he had missed from the doorway were the framed photographs at the two empty seats. One was of Gwyn, her smile just as warm and bright as Carlos remembered. The other was of his father, broad smile on his face and warmth in his eyes evident even through the print and the tears that had gathered in his eyes. He looked to TK to see the same emotions reflected in his eyes even as he smiled. 

“It didn’t feel right to celebrate without them,” he explained and Carlos swore he fell in love with him all over again. 

“It’s perfect,” he told TK, unsure how his husband had known exactly what he needed when even he hadn’t. “Thank you so much.” 

“I am always going to try and give you what you need,” TK replied. “I made a promise, remember? Through better or worse.” 

“Which one is this?” 

TK squeezed his arm as he leaned closer, looking at the picture of his mother. “I think this is a bit of both.” 

Carlos wrapped an arm around TK’s shoulders to hold him closer, all the while thinking that really, that is all life was. A bit of better and a bit of worse, and sometimes a whole lot more of one or the other. The trick, he was coming to realize, was finding someone to share it with who could always be your better, even amongst the worse. 

His musings were interrupted by Owen poking his head into the dining room. “Has this been enough time for you to have your moment or do you need us to make ourselves busy for a little longer?” 

TK gave his dad a mortified look but Carlos burst out laughing, waving Owen into the room. “No, I think we’re done.” 

“Good,” the older man replied. “Because I don’t want to step into anything or intrude, but I am starving.” 

“Don’t worry,” TK assured him in a stage whisper absolutely meant to be heard by his father. “I reminded them that this will be an early evening to ensure that we still have plenty of time to celebrate later, just the two of us.” 

“TK,” Carlos hissed, aware of the red creeping across his cheeks. 

“Please,” his mother said with a roll of her eyes as she joined Owen at the table, “like we don’t know. There’s no shame in it, mijo.” 

“Still,” Carlos protested, but he gave up when TK laughed beside him. “You are such a menace, TK Strand,” he chided, but there was nothing but affection behind those words. 

“Yes,” TK agreed, “but I am your menace.” 

“Yes, you are,” Carlos confirmed. “And you always will be.” 

Carlos had no doubt that their anniversaries would get less painful as time went on, and he both anticipated and feared that fact in equal parts. The future was still a vast expanse in front of them and if the past had taught him anything, it was that nothing was promised. He looked from the photographs of two people who had been taken from them, and then at the two people seated at their table who would be there for them as long as they possibly could. Finally he looked at the man beside him, the face he wanted to fall asleep beside and wake up next to for the rest of his life. Maybe that wasn’t guaranteed, but this was, and Carlos was ready to savor every moment. 

[leclsrc]

keep a place for me – cl16

Charles has been single all his life, and you know the reason why.

auds here... title from this, the song that inspired me to write. u can Never go wrong w frank ocean (facts) one of my top artists of allll time!

Will Charles Leclerc Ever Stop Being a Bachelor?

“This is fucking bullshit.” He shuts the phone off, but the headline’s font has branded itself even behind his eyelids. Irritation simmers just beneath them, his hands gesturing wildly to convey his annoyance to you and Pierre, as you watch with mild concern. He eyes you both. “Bullshit!”

“Not—mate, I love you—but it’s not really.” Pierre eases into it slowly, sheepishly almost. “You’ve been single forever. And the headline is just pointing that… out.”

Charles huffs a little, crosses his arms, gives a half-hearted shrug. “Fine. So what, what do—do they wish for me to get married and have kids within the year?!”

“I don’t think your bachelor status is really a cause of complaint for these fans,” you point out. “I’d think they’re happy. Charles, tabloids spin this bullshit all the time for their benefit and clout.”

“Yeah.” Pierre nods along. “Fans know not to feed into it, so relax. Believe us—your two closest friends. And hey, the fans, they’re actually making a pretty good point, if you think about it.”

Pierre! You yell in unison, heads whipping in his direction.

He throws two arms up, eyes widening at the sudden display of aggression from his two friends, fans the both of you off. “Oi, I’m being honest. Charles has been single since forever. Seriously, forever.” Your eyes refuse to meet Charles’ now that the topic has fully focused on his being single; you gulp instead, crossing your arms. Pierre is a little shit though, and pushes further: “What, did thirteen-year-old Charles get his heart broken, or something?”

“Try seventeen,” sighs Charles, defeated almost. Your eyes flicker to him, his sitting figure, then back to Pierre, whose eyes are bright with curiosity. 

Pierre almost can’t believe it. “Mate?! Why’ve you never mentioned this?”

“Because it wasn’t relevant,” he clarifies firmly. “At the time. But it’s been so long, I guess. With somebody from Monaco. We’d been proper close then, but I’d always liked her. Maybe love, it was, at that point.”

“Aha, now we’re talking, chat!” Pierre pulls a seat out from the counter you’re all sitting at—your kitchen counter—and leans forward, interested. You remain standing, leaning against the counter, eyes on the tile, breathing slow and heavy. “Then what?”

“Nothing, I just—I told her I liked her on a trip to Paris.”

He lies. Even now, in the clouds of age and patched-up relationships and work and new lives, you can recount the night from memory, a cold chilly one in Monaco on the eve of his eighteenth, on the roof of your family home. He let it all out in one breath, a rushed I love you, and then garbled additions to his confession followed.

I’ve always loved you, he said, pressed when you shook your head no. You kept shaking your head and he kept going. You know I’ve always loved you, je ne cesserai jamais de t’aimer. But even with your hands clasped in his you said no, no, this is wrong, it’ll end badly, don’t want this, please. For us, don’t. For me. 

Because even then Charles had the light of a world champion, the drive of one, and you saw it in him so early. You saw with it the doom of a potential relationship, and resolved to end things before they even started. It wouldn’t happen without it being ruined, you figured, so why let it happen at all? 

“Proper romantic, Charles!” Pierre hollers. “What’d she say?”

You loved Charles so much it was almost painful.

Rejecting him, feigning indifference, pretending you only thought of him platonically felt alien. You played the part well, thought—this is Charles with the funny voice impressions. Charles with a habit of biting his nails. But the truth was, you cared. You cared so deeply, and you were so in love, in the way all seventeen-year-olds are, a childish thing.

You might dismiss the love to be childish, just to ignore how real it was, but it really was real. The love really was something. You’d have done anything for him, and you can place for a fact he would’ve said the same for you. The problem is you’re still in love, living out the stretch of the last few years in silent torture, silent suffering.

And you wish sometimes to be childish again, to be seventeen and say yes, I do love you, ignore the consequences that might come with it. You long so desperately for his love, and the fact that he’s willing to give it makes it more painful, the way you know you will never allow yourself to receive it. The fans, the fame, the danger. Was it worth it? To be wanted, needed by him?

“She said she…” Finally, finally your eyes meet, in a way so different from the usual. With this comes the rush of nostalgia, of hurt, of pain. Of love, unrequited and unconfessed, left abandoned in childhood rooftops. “…just wanted to stay friends.”

[passerine2007]

Withered | Huntlow

Part 4 [Last Part]

By Passerine2007

Hunter started losing hope. He wondered if Willow was just a fever dream. He watched the flowers they had planted wither one by one, each petal falling.

Then, as he was about to leave the forest, he heard a faint crack from a broken branch. His heart thumped in anticipation, only to be crushed as he turned around.

It was a different person. The girl before him gazed at him with tired, puffy eyes.

Hunter felt his world drop. What did the girl say? Why was she saying sorry to him? Willow? Willow had a heart disease? Since when?

Millions of questions passed through his mind as he tried to process what was happening. By the time he had gained some sense, he had already accepted the letter in his hand as he watched Amity walk away, wiping her tears.

Hunter opened the letter with trembling hands, his throat lumping painfully. The letter was written in a positive way; Willow wrote in a very hopeful and happy tone.

He lost the strength in his knees, his tears finally falling involuntarily as he clutched the grass on the ground. He couldn't accept such a thing. All he could do was ask why.

His cries echoed through the silent forest, each sob tearing through the silence. The memories of their time together surged through his mind—her laughter, her bright smile, the way she lovingly planted each flower despite knowing it might not survive. He remembered how she would brush the dirt off her dress, the twinkle in her eye whenever they discovered a new bird for his camera.

The flowers around him seemed to mourn as well, their petals falling one by one to the pain and loss that enveloped him. Each petal that drifted to the ground felt like a piece of his heart breaking away, the delicate blooms wilting in sympathy with his grief.

The wind blew softly, carrying the petals on the ground flying and draping over him. He felt a gentle touch, almost like a caress, on his head. In his mind’s eye, he saw her smile, the most beautiful thing in the world.

She was the most vibrant person he had ever known, yet like the flowers, she withered quickly.

But she remained, her presence blooming on the forest floor and in their hearts forever.

[according2thelore]

i just want to say its insane that this is the best blog AND the best ao3 account. unfair. also i scrolled here forever and came across that art of priest sam and now i'm thinking about what if sam ran off to join the priesthood if he didn't get into stanford...... i don't even know if that's a thing in the 21st century but omg.... dean breaking into a church rectory to steal him back from god....... calling him father to be a dick but also bc...

HOLY SHIT????

um--thank you so much??? omg??? i'm crying?

the best is crazy, considering there are so many incredibly talented and hilarious bloggers that make up our community, and i'm so glad to be part of them! thank you!!!!!! i'm so honoured you like our blog and my fanfic!!! that means the world!!!!! <3 charlotte also says thank you sm!

and yes! priest!sam makes me bark like a fucking dog bc it makes sense! sam, at college, tormented by visions and unsure why walking past the stanford memorial church in the middle of the quad makes his feet burn.

whenever he blesses himself with holy water, it leaves faint red marks on his forehead for the rest of the day that he covers with his bangs. salt really seasons his food, and he can immediately tell if someone put it on his meal.

and he loves jess--he does, so much it hurts--but he can't live like this, not anymore. he applies to seminary school (you have to be at least twenty-five (or twenty-four if you get it waived) to become a priest but let's ignore that for now!) and only gets in because his local priest advocates for him to the diocese. for some reason, his application keeps getting lost, no matter how many times he turns it in. it just vanishes.

he doesn't know that what's inside of him is evil, yet, but he remembers looking at dean sometimes and having to look away because dean seemed bright, physically bright, and it hurt his eyes. he thought it was misplaced lust, that burning in his skin, but remembers that painting of galahad, of glorious light and purpose and purity and knows that he wants that.

he feels it, when he undergoes orders, the burning in his blood, his weak knees as he kneels on marble, like he's going to be sick, and he's overjoyed, because that must mean that he's being cleansed of every unholy thought, every unholy cell in his body. the holy oil they smear on his hands moves on its own into circles on his palms, quarter-sized dots that sizzle.

sam tucks his fingers into his palms and pretends that he can't see the similar wounds on the crucifix, the stigmata that are a garish red on christ turning into silver scars on sam's hands, scars that ache or burn when he cleans the holy vessels or touches the sacrament.

he gets assigned to the smallest church in the diocese. he's happy enough, and finds peace in the quiet, in connecting with the people in the parish and the spartan way of life--no distractions, no decorations, just a purpose, a holy purpose. he gets restless sometimes, the lack of mental stimulation driving him crazy, so he prays to god to remove this weakness in him. he prays to god when he sweeps the floor and when he organizes the soup kitchen donations and when he brushes his teeth.

he's closing up one night when he sees a man in one of the pews in the darkened sanctuary. he approaches slowly, and asks softly, 'can i help you?'

and the man doesn't turn around, when he says, 'i had a brother, once.' and sam fucking freezes in his steps because he dreams about this voice sometimes, dreams of this man's hands on him and knows that his job isn't done yet, know that he's not cleansed of all the rot inside of himself, because this man remains.

and dean's smile is liquid and oily when he turns around, and says, 'but now our family's got two fathers.'

and sam's lost, the second he looks into dean's eyes, the exact shade forgotten until this moment, and sam's feet ache in his shoes like they always do on church grounds--on hallowed ground--, and dean fucking glows, and sam can see the shadows he casts, and sam's eyes burn.

one of them is holy, one of them is approved by god.

and it's never been sam. it never will be.

god doesn't want him.

but dean does. dean always does.

goddamn this ran away with me. do i need to write a priest!sam fic?? much to think about. thank you for this lovely ask anon!!!! and thank you again for your kind words!!!!!! <3

happy wincest wednesday!

-lizzy

[innocent-writers-soul]

Colin Zabel x Fem!Reader (smut)

summary: at your mutual colleague’s party you get close to colin and wonder how cute men can be, which is rarity for you

warnings: drunk main character, oral (f receiving), dry humping, first sex

word count: 1874

It's been a month since your impulsive act was still imprinted in your mind. One night, when the three of you together with Colin and Mare were detained by the boss at work to sort out documents, you weightlessly kissed Colin on the temple when everyone went home and left the office, and he, sitting, fell asleep in his own in the dim light of a small lamp, resting his head on crossed hands on the table. You were incredibly tired to stop yourself from gust of love, and besides, you didn’t do anything criminal. Just the most discreet kiss that should not have remained in Colin's memory, only in yours. But you had no idea that the detective was awake from the very beginning of your entry into the room and was aware of what you had done.

You tried not to attach importance to the changed glances of Colin, attributing it to the fact that it was just seemed to you and it was just your fantasies. When he stood next to you so that he respected your personal boundaries, but was already closer to your own body compared to the times before; when you felt more random gentle touches; when he did cute little things like bring your favorite coffee or casually leave your favorite sweets and candies on your working place; when you saw Colin even more often in your office, who almost began to live in it, but you still were convinced that it was your inflamed brain. Nothing more. Even when drunk Colin put his hand on yours and turned awkwardly at you, shifting his gaze from your eyes to lips with a soapy look and smiling stupidly, telling something. You did your best to listen to him and not pay attention to the skin, which burned from his touch. Today was a day off, but you still had to meet your colleagues at the birthday party of one of them, Jacob. And especially for this occasion, you put on your black tight dress, which sat on you just perfectly, but now it seemed that you were in a vice and grip. You missed the moment when Colin leaned in, scalded with hot breath mixed with alcohol. You froze, not knowing what to expect from him, and then you felt his soft lips covering yours. The kiss was slow, careful and sheepish, you tried each other, and you couldn’t believe that this was really happening. You pulled away from Colin first, widely open inquiring eyes.

“Colin...” he smiled sincerely, dimples appeared on his cheeks.

“Did you think you were the only one who could kiss without permission?” he asked coquettishly and awkwardly, watching your reaction.

You did not understand what it was leading to, and when you had recalled, you blushed, opening and closing your mouth like a cute little fish. You were ready to sink into the ground, you were ashamed to look into his eyes again, but were distracted from your thoughts by the same Colin, who couldn’t cope with his own drunken body and practically flew off the chair to the floor, but you managed to grab him at the last second.

“Are you okay?” you asked in shock, wondering how much had happened in such a short time.

Colin laughed and was mumbling something under his breath and you decided to escort him to one of the rooms to give him a chance to sober up a bit.

“Colin, honey, get up,” you pulled his hand and it took forever to collect his limbs into a single whole, at the same time embarrassed in good way by those bright open glances that the detective threw at you. With joint efforts, you reached the first empty room that came across, lit only by moonlight through the window curtains that were not closed, and you threw off the body of a man on the bed, who tried to help you and stay strong on his feet, but he managed to do it with difficulty.

“...with me,” came to you, but you couldn’t hear it clearly.

“Repeat, please?”

“I say… stay with me, y/n,” Colin didn’t let go of your hand and looked so real in that moment, so sweet and perfect that you had no choice but to agree. You sighed and lay down next to him on the bed. Your heart was beating like crazy, you've never felt like this before. You were drawn to Colin, both mentally and physically, but you tried not to think it was so important, confident that in the morning he will not remember anything.

“Y/n…” reached to you muffled from behind.

“Yes?”

“…Can I hug you?” you thought it was cute and you nodded, noting to yourself that even in a drunken state Colin remained gallant and such a gentleman.

You heard a rustle behind you and felt his arm draped over your waist and his breath around your neck. Goosebumps ran along your spine, and they only intensify when he asked the next question. “...Can I kiss you?..”

You hold your breath and agreed again – Colin left gently wet kisses on your neck, burying his nose in your hair. You closed your eyes as his hand began to caress your side and his lips continued to shower you with kisses. For a moment it all stoped. You opened your eyes and carefully turned around, immediately bumping into Colin's shy but thoughtful face. You just had to guess what's going on in his head.

“I’m very embarrassed to ask this,” he swallowed and you thought about how strange you felt around him: all evening you found yourself in situations that you have never been in before, but you didn’t feel discomfort and you’re just curious.

“Go on?” you encouraged the detective and stroked his fist with your index finger.

He drew air into his lungs, “...I would like to please you”.

And smiled timidly. He never ceased to amaze you – just a few guys in a drunken state are interested in such things, at least from the stories about those your girl friends told you about. Basically they are only interested in their pleasure. You thought detective’s words were lovely, but you snorted, “Colin, how drunk are you?”

“Enough to understand what I'm suggesting.”

You froze again, considering his words and Colin saw your uncertainty, “...Oh, I mean... if you're not comfortable, then–”

“No, it’s not that,” you half-sat down, chewing your lip nervously. “I just… well… never did that before. But I want to.”

Colin nodded slowly at you and reached for your lips, kissing you soothingly and reassuringly. Still staggering a little, he crawled to your feet and sat between legs, looking into your eyes. In the dark, his own seemed completely black and you wanted to continue to look at them for hours without stopping. You felt safe next to Colin, and when he again reached for a kiss, concurrently hand parting your legs and pulling your dress higher to gain access to the lower part of your body, you did not resist and decided to trust him. Your breath got astray as Colin kissed your inner thighs, gently caressing your soft skin. You sighed, feeling light bites followed by a hot tongue that licked their spots. You sensed the growing arousal and the way your pants were getting wetter with every Colin’s move. He didn’t stop looking at you, touching your slit, hidden by a thin fabric, and your body began to tremble finely when he touched your clit, massaging it. You sobbed and moved in time with Colin’s hand and twitched as you felt him replaced his hand to the lace, raising his eyebrows questioningly. You nodded and felt real perplexity, revealing your most intimate part. You tried to cover yourself by squeezing your knees, to which Colin shook his head, pushing them back.

“You're beautiful,” he whispered, looking at how glistened your pussy, wanting to taste it.

You gasped, feeling the warm skin of the detective who inhaled your scent, and in the next moment, a tongue ran over your wet folds. You moaned, understanding that you were glad that your first sex was happening with Colin. He moved his head and tongue, positioning his face so that his nose touched your clit, producing friction. You were lost in sensations, squeezing the sheets with your hands and breathing heavily – you were not interested in what was happening behind the wall; your colleagues were probably having fun and spending their time as good as you both, just each in their own way and in their own style. Colin added one finger, slowly sinking it into you and moving it at a moderate pace, letting you melt into the new experience.

“Damn,” pronounced in a whisper; he added a second finger, bending them in a certain way, and you screamed, not expecting it from yourself.

You could feel him smiling and your walls were squeezing together with your legs near his head. You were sure that by the end of the process you will strangle him with your legs, but, apparently, he would only like it.

“Colin–” you whimpered, and he quickened his fingers, and you were more and more carelessly rubbing wet pussy over his face and smearing all the juices, feeling the approach of orgasm.

“Yes, girl, that's it,” he moaned, humping the bed through the fabric of his trousers with his hard erection, not forgetting to lick and suck you and fuck with his fingers.

You got your head back on the pillows, drowning in orgasm, pulling Colin even tighter with your hand, coming right on his face, squeezing around his tongue. You let out a long moan, which spurred Colin on to move his hips even more frantically, and after a few thrusts, his body shook too and he cummed in his pants. Your eyes stuck together, and your body trembled – these emotions were too much for you, even if they were all blissful. Colin slowly peeked out from your legs and fell in the middle of the bed, smiling beatifically.

You looked at him and saw how his nose, mouth and chin were completely covered with your wetness, “God, Colin, you're all dirty”.

He chuckled hoarsely, looking back at you, “Not just my face”. You blushed, giggling, and he smiled radiantly in response, kissing your side.

“I've sobered up enough to go out to people and then get home”.

“I think I'm on the contrary – drunk now,” you smirked, finding your pants next to you, pulling them back on. Colin watched you closely, never taking his eyes off you.

“What?" you’re in confusion, returning to the place on the bed.

“So… will you be my girlfriend?” timid Colin came back and you smiled lopsided – a grown man, but still the same cautious.

You leaned in, kissing him on the lips, tasting yourself and assuring him, “Yes. I'll be your girlfriend”.

You were looking at each other: Colin, lying on his back, and you, hanging over him from the side. You touched each other's hair, heard how the music changed on the dance floor and people screamed and celebrated, and you felt like the happiest people on the planet.

a/n: i swear, never in my life have i seen such a man as colin and i hope that fate will show me a copy of him otherwise i will be alone all my life </3 (but pls, i want him alive ok)