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[merakiui]

the birds and the bees.

yandere!riddle rosehearts x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, slight dub-con, implied stalking, age gap (riddle is 19 and reader is 29) note - you're hired to teach riddle about the birds and the bees. you need the money. he needs to get laid.

The Rosehearts’s Residence looks about how you expected it to after driving past houses of similar size and grandeur. Unlike you, they’re definitely not strapped for cash. It’s an impressive structure with its elegant wrought iron gates and expertly trimmed hedges. You’re immediately overcome with bitter jealousy when you step through the entrance, passing rose bushes in full bloom. If only your apartment could look and feel as nice as this place. You almost wonder if you should keep Mrs. Rosehearts’s contact in case she ever needs a gardener or a window washer…

But then that risks your cover, and the last thing you want is to get tangled up in trouble with the upper middle class.

Gathering your courage, you smooth invisible wrinkles in your pencil skirt, steady your balance in your Mary Janes—both at socially acceptable lengths and heights—and bring your fist down against the door. Seconds after the third knock, it opens to reveal a woman who looks as prim and proper as the landscape of her home. She takes a long moment, drinking in your formal features, and then smiles approvingly.

“Ah, (Name), you’re early.”

You soften your face into something polite and demure. “Better early than late.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

She steps aside, gesturing for you to come in. You meander into the foyer and are instantly reminded of those exquisite house tours on MagiTube. There’s a fine layer of modest Victorian wealth to the decor. Flowery wallpaper, a lofty ceiling, an aureate chandelier, a vase filled with fresh tulips of all colors… Oh, how you wish you could live here!

“Your home is beautiful,” you comment as you straighten your bow headband.

“Why, thank you.” Her eyes light up once more. “I’ve always admired this neighborhood. Everything is so well-kept. Speaking of which, where did you say you’re from?”

“Oh, I’m actually getting ready to move back to school at the end of the summer,” you explain, narrowly dodging her question. No way I’m telling her I live in a not-so-affluent neighborhood… She’ll totally kick me out. “I’m staying with my parents in the meantime and working a few jobs to support myself.”

“And what was it you’re studying again?”

You paste a hollow smile on, sensing her distrust. I already told you this when we met at the clinic. Do I really seem so suspicious?

“I’m studying to be an ob-gyn.”

“A wonderful profession,” she praises, nodding to herself. “Very wonderful indeed. And how old are you? I merely ask to confirm. There are so many miscreants nowadays. You can never be too sure.”

“I understand completely, Mrs. Rosehearts. I’m—” you almost falter, your real age on the tip of your tongue— “twenty-two. What about your son? You told me he’s also looking to get into the medical field?”

“Not looking. He will pursue medicine,” she corrects sternly. “Just like his mother.”

You swallow your disgust and try not to let it show so openly. Yikes… Talk about controlling.

Mrs. Rosehearts waves you onwards down the hall. “My Riddle will be leaving for his first year of college at the end of August. Though I’m certain he’s more than prepared, it never hurts to review.”

“Absolutely. So you’d like me to give him the talk?”

“Not just that. I’d like you to teach him well enough so that copulation and any other libidinous ideas are the last things on his mind. Stamp them out if you must. He’s to focus on his studies and make good decisions just as I raised him.”

Shouldn’t he already be familiar with this? Besides, he’s not a kid. Of course he’s going to think about sex. Most of us do when we’re horny.

But you can’t say that outright, so you settle for something vastly different.

“It’s important to stay on the right path and be responsible.”

Mrs. Rosehearts nods her agreement. Your stomach twists in discomfort.

On second thought, I don’t want to be upper middle class if these are the people I have to deal with. Is this guy going to have any chance to be social? To live his life? To make and learn from stupid mistakes? I bet he can’t wait to get out of here and go off to school.

“I apologize if this is rude in any way, but I just want to ensure I’ll be paid accordingly.”

“Of course. Good work must always be recognized and rewarded.” She stops at a door. “I cannot thank you enough for lending my Riddle your time. Teach him well.”

“I’ll do just that. You can count on it.”

Pleased with the level of maturity you’ve displayed, she raps her knuckles against the door and calls out, “Riddle, the tutor’s here.”

“Very well, Mother. I’ve just finished today’s readings, so you can send them in,” comes a muffled reply.

Today’s readings? you think, perplexed. Your gaze slides from the door to Mrs. Rosehearts. Does she have this guy doing summer school? That must suck! What a shitty way to spend your summer, cooped up inside filling out workbooks and stuff.

“I’ll be out running errands in the meantime. I trust you’ll be all right by yourself?”

“Perfectly all right,” you assure her, to which she hums and strides past you. You catch her perfume as she departs, and it reminds you of the types of scents worn by saggy, old ladies who have nothing better to do than sit around and complain about the state of the world and the way their children turned out.

In other words, a scent you associate with misery.

You wait until she’s out of sight before opening the door and stepping inside the study. There’s a mahogany desk in the center, and thick textbooks are piled high on either side. Beyond that, beside a big bay window with cream-colored curtains drawn to let in the sun, two large bookcases are packed with an array of tomes. At the front of the room, a blackboard has been built into a wooden frame. Chalk lines the ledge, situated within reach of an eraser. And sitting at the desk, his eyes glued to an open book, is a young man. A pair of round frames sit on the bridge of his nose, slipping ever so slightly down the slope of it when he peers at the page. He pushes them up when he finally lifts his head to greet you.

“Hey.” You wave awkwardly, easing the door shut.

He seems taken aback by your appearance. “Oh, yes. Right. Hello…”

Silence soon fills the space. You wonder if you should just save yourself this nonsensical waste of time and retreat.

“Sooo.” You fold your arms behind your back, rocking on your heels. “Your mother’s probably told you why I’m here.”

“I’m aware.” He shuts his book and stands from his seat. “My name is Riddle Rosehearts. A pleasure to meet you.”

You blink at his outstretched arm. “(Name). Likewise.” You grab his hand and shake firmly. 

So stiff…

“So where’re we starting? The basics? You want the whole ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much’ version or—”

Riddle scoffs and yanks his arm back. “I’m not a fool. I’ll have you know I’m well aware of sexual reproduction and what it entails.”

“You can call it sex. No one’s forcing you to be all biological,” you tease. His body goes rigid, and his face reddens in what you assume is flustered annoyance. “Anyways, since you’re not as brainless as Mother Dearest wants me to assume, I’ll just get into it.”

Riddle stares at you, his arms folding over his chest. He looks like he wants to argue, but instead he huffs and lowers into his chair.

Wordlessly, you undo the buttons on your blazer and shrug out of it. Your blouse goes next, untucked from your skirt and shucked. Riddle’s eyes are so wide they nearly pop out of his skull when he spies the white, lacy false collar that just barely covers your breasts. You’re about to step out of your pencil skirt next when Riddle clears his throat.

“W-What’re you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No?”

“I’m teaching you the birds and the bees.”

“N-Not in that outfit! S-Surely not…” He averts his eyes, crimson crawling up to his ears. “You’re practically nude!”

“That’s the point of lingerie, silly.” Your skirt pools around your ankles to reveal the rest of your frilly ensemble. A black-and-white cupless bra and crotchless panties set, both with plenty of ruffles, held together with a pair of garters. Still wearing matching stockings and your precious Mary Janes, you bend down to gather your discarded clothes. They’re set aside on a nearby chair. “You can look.”

“A-Absolutely not!” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. “Y-You… You’re not decent. It’s rude to stare.”

“Come on. You got past anatomy diagrams just fine.”

Riddle opens and closes his mouth, speechless like a beached fish. Eventually, he manages to gather his coherency. “You’re a tutor, aren’t you? Where’s your dignity?”

“Nonexistent. I lied.” His head snaps over to view you, and he seems so scandalized by your admission that it’s almost comedic. “No way I’m studying to be an ob-gyn. I’m not even in school.”

“What?! But you—”

“It’s fine. I looked the part, didn’t I?” you joke, waving your hand about dismissively. “C’mon, mama’s boy. You’re going off to college. It’s nothing like those stuffy anatomy courses.”

Riddle tries and fails to look at anywhere that isn’t you, his eyes lingering on your chest to the space between your legs to the thigh garter and then to the ceiling. He’s so red you think he might explode.

“You’ve been with a girl before, yeah?”

With lips pursed in a tight line, he shakes his head.

“Sounds about right.”

“And you’re so experienced?”

You flash him a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it, mama’s boy.”

“I’m not a mama’s boy!”

“No? So you just let your mother treat you like a little baby at your grown age? You let her pick out sex tutors for you?”

“I—” He stops himself from speaking to mull over your questions. “If it’s what she deems necessary…”

“Because our biggest fear is sexually awkward you knocking up some girl at school, right?”

“I… I would never! Safe sex is—”

“Very important when you’re not trying to conceive. Good boy. See? You know your stuff.”

Riddle’s eyes narrow into vicious slits. You brush his scorching vitriol off and turn towards the board. Procuring a piece of chalk, you scrawl words on it: Birds and Bees 101. Wholly unamused, Riddle folds his arms across his chest.

“Your mother told me you’re gonna study medicine, so you’re probably familiar with everything already. And I’m sure you know all about the baby-making process on a biological level.” You whirl to face him, your tits bouncing with the peppy motion. Riddle swallows thickly. “But just to make sure… Let’s review.”

“R-Review? You don’t mean—”

“What’s this?” Your hands close around your tits. Riddle’s enchanted with the way you squeeze them—the way they depress under your fingers.

“Um… Ahem. Well… T-The breasts. They’re a type of glandular organ located on a woman’s chest, and they’re made up of lots of tissue and fat. There’s the mammary gland—that’s what produces milk. Oh, and then there are the areolas right around the nipples. Those are—”

“You can call them what they are.”

Riddle blinks, shaken from his studious spiel. “W-What?”

“You know the word, mama’s boy.”

He flusters. “Yes, I’m aware. But…”

“No harm in saying it.” You run your fingers over your nipples and giggle sweetly like a schoolgirl. “Go on…”

He inhales a deep breath. “They’re tits,” he mumbles, desultory. “Y-Your tits.”

You clap, beaming brightly. “Well done! Moving swiftly on…” You run your hands down the expanse of your stomach, stopping just beneath your navel. “What’s here?”

“Your womb. O-Otherwise known as the uterus. It’s where a baby grows over the course of nine months.”

“Mhm. Good job.”

He pushes his glasses up his nose, clearing his throat. “There’s more to your reproductive system than the uterus. Lots of parts. Important parts.”

“Right. But I don’t need to quiz you on it. You obviously know your stuff.”

Again, your fingers inch lower until they’re prodding at your folds. Riddle’s breath audibly hitches.

“And this?”

“Your vagina. It’s where—”

“What’s the other word?”

Riddle avoids your stare. “It sounds so vulgar…”

“So what?”

“S-So there ought to be a term that’s more…flattering.”

“Like what?” You approach him and, with the grace of a swan, lift your leg onto the desk to give him a better view of yourself. Shamelessly, you dip your fingers inside to spread yourself. “A guy called it the honeypot once. That pretty enough for you?”

Riddle squeaks and flinches back in his chair, his face now even redder than it was before. “T-That’s fine…”

“Really? I’d have thought the implication in that one is much dirtier than calling it a pussy.”

It takes him a moment to connect the dots, but once he does he gasps. “Ah. Then…”

You press inwards with your fingers, exaggerating a pornographic sigh. “Yeah?”

“Can I… M-May I call it your flower?”

“Sure.” His shoulders slacken with a flicker of relief. Your next words shatter that and his pride in one fell swoop. “That one’s not as special as you think, mama’s boy. I’ve heard it all—every type of flower you can think of.”

“Even a rose?”

“Especially a rose.” His lips twist into a disappointed moue. You chuckle and add, “You can call it a rose if you want. I don’t mind.”

Riddle meets your eyes then, searching them for the joke. When one doesn’t present itself, he relaxes. “All right. It’s a very pretty rose. Soft…”

“Aww. Thanks for saying so. It’s softer inside, y’know. See?” Spreading yourself wider, you angle your hips to bless him with the full view. “My fingers slide right in. Wanna guess why?”

“B-Because the vagina naturally—” He stops himself, his brows knitting together in contemplation. When he speaks next, it’s with a determined sort of conviction. “When you’re aroused, your rose produces a natural lubricant during sexual excitement.”

“Mhm. We call that ‘feeling good and getting wet,’ Dr. Rosehearts.”

“Yes. Y-Yes, I know that.” He eyes your pussy, a ravenous glimmer in his intelligent blue-greys. “And the wetness—it’s supposed to make it feel better. To make insertion easier, I mean.”

“Right again.” You ease your fingers out but not before thrusting them deeper just so he can hear the sinful sounds. They shimmer with your essence, enticing in a forbidden way. “What about the other parts? How about this spot here?” You brush against the hood of your clit, circling it slowly.

Riddle watches, hopelessly spellbound. “The clitoris.”

“I’m impressed. Most guys don’t know about it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“But it’s your most sensitive erogenous zone! Just how uninformed does one have to be to neglect such a crucial part to your sexual anatomy?”

“Woefully uninformed, I’m afraid,” you mutter with a pout. Your fingertips drag your hood up to reveal that pretty, perky nub. “I think it’s dumb your mother wants me to talk you out of sex. You’re going to college. You’re an adult. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“I…” Riddle frowns at that last line. “I have no interest in it. Besides, it’ll only hinder my studies. If I really need it, I’ll just masturbate. That’s healthy every now and then, and it doesn’t break any rules.”

“Really? No interest at all?” You shoot him a knowing look and run your tongue along your bottom lip. “Because your dick’s telling a different story.”

Riddle sputters, embarrassed, and squeezes his thighs together. His hands fly to cover his lap. “That’s because you’re—” He gazes at the floor. “Because you’re so pretty…”

Temporarily thrown off course, you gape at him. “What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Gathering the remnants of your mask, you piece it together and laugh. “Not the first time I’ve heard someone describe it like that.”

“Not just your pussy.” Your gaze snaps to his. He smiles, impish. “I’m sure you know what I mean, Teacher.”

You exhale a short laugh. “Someone’s suddenly confident.”

Riddle rises from his seat. His fingers close around your wrist, gently pulling it away from your clit. He moves around the desk to stand in front of you and then, before you can comprehend his intentions, he’s pushing you down onto the desk. You yelp at the sudden change in position, your eyes blown wide when he presses his clothed hard-on against your bare pussy.

“You’re doing a poor job at dissuading me from wanting sex.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

“Not in that outfit.” He grabs at the meat of your thighs and parts them. “If Mother knew you lied to her…”

You shake your head at him. “Please don’t tell her. I… I’m being serious. I need this money.”

“Desperately?”

Your lip curls into the beginning of a sneer. You hate feeling powerless more than anything, but the fiery glaze in his eyes is just as troubling. “I’m not going to beg.”

“I haven’t asked for that yet.”

You roll your eyes. “Not funny. I agreed to teach you about sex. We’re not actually doing it.”

“A shame.”

“You’ll find a nice girl at school. Don’t lose hope, mama’s boy. Lots of girls like the smart types who’ll give ’em a lecture on biology and stuff.”

“I think you misunderstand. I don’t want other girls.”

“Okay?”

“My mother’s paying for a tutor and I desire you, so unless you want to leave here as a lying cheat…” He hums, seeming awfully haughty to hold the only thing that tethers you to him above your head. “You need the money, right?”

“Yes. Sure, of course I do. But—” You shift on the desk, silently horrified when he rocks against you. “We can’t. Your mother—”

“Weren’t you the one saying I should live my life? That I have the freedom to do as I please?”

“That doesn’t mean—come on; listen to yourself. You can’t honestly think I’d fuck you.”

“No? And yet you came wearing this outfit, parading around the study with your pussy and tits out.” He glances past you at the window. “And you didn’t even bother to close the curtains… How brazen.”

Your attempt to jerk away from him is made in vain. He pins you down onto the desk, one hand squeezing your breast, while the other works to fish himself from his trousers. Now hard and leaking, his cock rests against your stomach. It’s not a terrible size. If anything, it’s perfect. Just right for your tastes.

“W-Wait! It’s not safe. You can’t—” You inhale sharply, bucking up towards his hand when he presses his thumb against your clit. Biting your lip, you fix him with a glower. “If you pay me… If you promise not to tell your mother—”

Riddle leans in close. “No one needs to know. No one but us.”

Your eyes flit about the room. With a withering sigh, you submit to his touch. “You’d better pull out in time.”

Riddle rolls his hips once and his cock drags along your folds. You hiss through your teeth at this new friction, a sinful delight more dizzying than any type of alcohol consumed in excess. “Do you want to be a mother?”

“What I want has nothing to do with you. I’m just—ooh—t-trying to survive. You wouldn’t know what that’s like, so don’t poke fun.”

Riddle hums, kneading your breast and rubbing you to the edge all at once. It’s so very obviously his first time, his zealous nature trumping any sort of experienced technique. It still does the trick, though, sending little bolts of pleasure up your spine.

“My mother wouldn’t just choose anyone. Her standards are very high.” His eyes flick to your face, drinking in your expression as it shifts with restrained bliss. “Somehow you’ve earned her approval.”

“Lying’ll do that.”

“Maybe.” His fingers replicate the motions you did earlier, though with a singular objective in mind. He’s so focused on succeeding in this endeavor that it makes him look so stiff. Under any other circumstances, you’d find it cute. “Mother always knows what’s best for me. Obviously you’ve met her criteria if she’s hired you.”

“Spoken like a true mama’s boy.” Seeing as this is now your unavoidable fate, you reach up to touch his shoulders. He jolts, his initial glare softening. You tamp down another giggle and massage up and along his arms. “Relax a little. Don’t rush so much.”

Or do. Let’s get this over with before your mother catches us.

Riddle traces two fingers along your labia. He’s quiet as he takes all of you in, and when he sinks three fingers into your gooey heat his breath catches in his throat. “Are you… D-Do you feel good?”

You reach for his unoccupied hand and guide it to your clit. Riddle understands the suggestion well enough, for he massages you slowly. Sucking in another breath, you nod at him.

“Not bad. You’re getting there.”

His neglected cock throbs at the praise, and so you wrap your fingers around it to give it the same amount of attention he’s currently giving you. Riddle grits his teeth at the contact.

“You can move your fingers. Don’t just focus on my clit.”

“Ah. Right. Of course,” he babbles dumbly, so swept up in everything that you are, so very eager to please.

You’re like a work of art pinned to his desk, a delicacy more forbidden than anything from the bakery. Sugary-sweet, adorned in skimpy ruche, you’re a temptation laid bare. Delicately, as if you might shatter, he curls his fingers to press up against your insides. Riddle watches you arch up towards him, your hand working his cock maddeningly slow and steady. It feels good—better than anything he could have ever imagined.

His eyes trail from your lips to your tits to your pussy stretched around his fingers. “Do you have any plans for this summer?”

The sudden question catches you off guard. You were expecting something related to sex, not whatever this new shred of curiosity is. Still, that doesn’t stop you from dragging him closer to the edge of ecstasy with every tug of your fist.

“Why?”

“I… I’d like to get to know you.”

“Me?”

“Of course. You’re more than a body to me.”

“How charming. I just—” You frown, unable to follow where he’s going with this. “Why?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Even though he says it like it’s a fact, he looks shy. “I want to know you.”

“Uh… Yeah… Okay.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Not that… It’s just hard to imagine you having any girl friends.”

Riddle rolls his eyes and grinds his thumb into your clit. You bite back a whine as his fingers pump in and out of you. “Is that space open or closed?”

“You know which one.”

“You could be the one to close it.”

You meet his eyes then. For a short minute, the two of you hold each other’s stare. And then, breaking free from his hypnotic hold, you squeeze his length gently. He shudders, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“And what about you? You excited for your first year?”

“Mm, yeah,” he murmurs, rutting into your hand. His fingers spread you open, scissoring gently.

“Just make sure to take time for yourself. Have fun. Live.”

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were at school—how’d you manage?”

“I never went.” He opens his mouth to interject, but you beat him to it. “Couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh…”

“It’s fine! I’ve got plenty of experience in other things. I don’t need school for that.”

Riddle doesn’t believe your feigned optimism for a second. “If you could’ve gone, what would you have studied?”

You release his cock from your hold and reach up to pull his glasses from his face. Gingerly, minding the fragile frames, you set them aside. You lift your index to your lips, effortlessly coy. “It’s a secret.”

Before he can protest, you tap the hand at your cunt next. Riddle’s fingers, wet and shiny, slide out with a slick squelch. “I think you can do it.”

“What?”

“Go to school and study what you want. I believe in you.”

A wooden laugh tumbles from your lips. “Thanks for the encouragement, mama’s boy.”

“I have a name, you know.”

You smile easily. “You want me to call you something else? How does ‘good boy’ sound?”

Even though he tries not to let it show, his cock betrays his reticence with a small twitch. He’s an open book. Not wanting to give you the satisfaction, he lines himself up instead. Your fingers slip down to spread yourself for him.

“S-Slowly…” you whisper, stumbling over your breath as the head of his cock presses inside. Shallow at first before more inches fill you.

Riddle heaves a shaky gasp, his eyes wide with amazement. “I… I’m inside you…”

“How’s it feel?” “Warm. Soft. Snug. R-Really good.” He bows his head and digs his fingers into your hips. You think he has a dozen more adjectives on the tip of his tongue, each one just as fluffy as the last. “D-Do you feel good? It doesn’t hurt?”

“I’m fine.” You wind your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Your hands come to rest upon his shoulders once more. “Move your hips.”

Riddle does just that. His pace is awkward and inexperienced, every motion unsteady and jerky, as he searches for the right rhythm. He falls into it surprisingly fast, and it isn’t long until he’s smoothly rutting into you. You grab at his shirt, your breath coming in reedy huffs.

“Good. You—haa—good. You’re doing good.” Praise pours from your lips like a waterfall, plentiful and refreshing. It invigorates him, fills him with a confidence that wasn’t there before.

The soft slap of skin on skin fills the room. You keep your voice in check, lest you lose yourself and alert Mrs. Rosehearts. Riddle seems to be doing the same, even though it’s obvious he’s struggling much more than you are. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress his groans.

“You can touch me,” you whisper, petting his cheek. He blinks at you, his face aflame with a bright blush.

Nervously, he reaches for you and then pauses. Contemplation passes over his features. “What feels better? I want you to—no. I will make sure you cum. I’ve studied it, actually. I know how long it takes.”

“Look at you, doing your research like a diligent student. You want extra credit?”

Riddle chuckles and pinches your clit between two fingers. The rest of your teasing tapers off into a lewd squeal. “What was that about extra credit?”

“You’re awfully bold for your first time.”

“I’m not clueless.” His hips press inwards, plastering you to the desk, and his cock brushes that special spot within—the spot that has you seeing stars, your every nerve tingling with pleasure. You choke around a delighted gasp. Riddle, feeling victorious,  places his hand against your stomach, as if searching to feel his cock thrust up inside you. “Will I see you again after this?”

“If your mother wants me to come back and give you another pointless lecture on celibacy and safe sex, sure.”

“No, not that. Outside of this.”

“Don’t you have friends you’d rather hang out with?”

“I…do.”

“So spend time with them.”

Riddle doesn’t dignify that with a retort. With the way his eyes gloss over, you wonder just how many of these friends are within physical distance. The conversation stalls out into silence.

“You’ll make lots of friends at school. So many you’ll probably forget all about me.”

Riddle yanks your hips to meet his, driving himself deeper into your pussy.

“A-And you’ll find a nice girl to love if you’re looking for that kinda thing.”

“I am,” he confesses, breathless. “I want to get married and—mmh—start a family one day… I want to study law—become a lawyer… Mother thinks medicine suits me, but I can’t agree. Law is fascinating. It’s a perfect fit for me. Far better than medicine.”

You drag your thumb over your mouth, wetting it with your lipgloss, and then press it to his lips. The indirect kiss sends a tidal wave of arousal over him, darkening the tips of his ears in striking vermillion. You offer him a gentle smile while he recovers from that devastating flirt.

“I’ll make sure to hire you as my lawyer if I ever get into legal trouble.”

“You’d better not!” He laughs and shakes his head in amused disbelief. “But if you do, I’ll be there for you. Always.”

“Thanks, Riddle.”

Maybe I judged him too harshly. He’s not so bad.

In that stuffy study, just as the late afternoon gives way to red-orange streaked across a purple-pink sky, Riddle fucks you against that desk in all manner of rhythms. It’s when he finally picks up speed that you realize he’s nearing his end. You mirror his enjoyment, strung along by titillating touches and whispered words drenched in sweetness. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve reached rapture alongside him, your pussy now brimming with cum. There’s so much it leaks out of your slick hole when he draws away, only to burrow his cock deeper to stuff it back inside.

The room reeks of sweat and sex. You think, if not your disheveled appearance, the smell will definitely tell Mrs. Rosehearts all she needs to know.

“I love you,” Riddle murmurs, and you’re about to ask him what he means—maybe he’s caught up in the moment and doesn’t realize what he’s saying—but then he lifts your legs up to fold you into a mating press. Coherent thoughts are knocked out of your head when he spills over, filling you up for the nth time that day. You shiver beneath him, eyes rolled back into your skull and tongue lolling out. You feel so stupid, fucked submissive by some inexperienced, upper middle class mama’s boy. Which isn’t even an insult with real heat to it, but in your hazy mind it’s all you can think of to describe him.

He grinds against you in the aftermath, panting from the exhilaration and adrenaline. 

“We need to…open the window,” you mutter, your heart thumping wildly in your chest.

Riddle admires your fucked-out expression in his sex-drunk daze. He slides out just as he feels himself going flaccid. Cum drips onto the desk below. Briefly, you struggle to recall whether or not you took your birth control today.

Something to consider later. Definitely not right now when you’re still clinging to the vestiges of your orgasm.

— — —

Mrs. Rosehearts knocks on the door, opening it to find Riddle sitting at his desk, jotting notes and occasionally pushing his glasses up. You’re standing at the blackboard, writing a list of the consequences of unplanned pregnancies. The room smells pleasantly of roses.

“Pardon my intrusion.”

You gaze at her and smile, wearing the clothes you arrived in. Nothing’s amiss. It’s perfect—thankfully. “Welcome back, Mrs. Rosehearts. We’re just about finished here.”

“Is that right? I assume all went well?”

“Very well. Your son’s a fast learner. Extremely talented.”

“I would expect nothing less.” She withdraws an envelope and hands it to you. “Thank you again for explaining it in realistic terms. Of course I doubt that my Riddle will act senselessly while he’s away, but as his mother I’m prone to worrying. Boys his age are so easily influenced.”

“O-Of course! That’s a very valid concern.” You force a chuckle.

If only she knew.

“Your pay is in that envelope. Should I ever require your assistance again, I’ll be sure to call.”

“Right… Thank you.” You hold it close to your chest. “I’m happy to help.”

You follow her out the door. She pauses to address Riddle. “Do continue reviewing your notes. We’ll convene for dinner in thirty minutes.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Mrs. Rosehearts walks you to the gate. “I wish you luck in your studies. If I don’t see you again at the clinic, have a pleasant summer.”

“Thank you. You as well.” You smile, fidgeting slightly. A bead of sweat tracks a path down your leg from between cum-spattered thighs.

Finally! With this I can pay my rent and still have enough for a treat from the bakery.

It’s worth it, or so you continue to tell yourself.

— — —

From the window, Riddle watches you make the walk to your car. He lifts his phone to fit you in the camera and snaps a secret photo. He continues to watch you until you’ve driven off and turned the corner, disappearing from his sight.

A tiny smile tugs at his lips.

Within his phone, put under a password lock, a special photo album exists. It’s filled with pictures taken from your social media—all of them. Every. Single. One. He’s resourceful when he wants to be. He can play the parody of a tech genius when he sets his sights on something.

And you’re just perfect.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Welcome to the castle. Isn't the entrance to the property grand? The 2002 home in Indiana, PA has 5bds, 4.5ba, $1.2M.

I was not particularly impressed by the entrance hall, but there are other features in the home that are amazing.

Check out the wooden dragon on the right. The gray doors, however, look like the entrance to a gymnasium.

Yet, there are stone arches and a little gargoyle in this room.

The eat-in kitchen is huge.

It has lots of cabinets and a gothic window over the sink. I don't care for the wallpaper, though.

The dining room has this exquisitely carved fireplace. I hate the dining room set, though, in front of that gorgeous fireplace.

This is such a gigantic family room.

Check out the chainmail light fixture.

At the top of the stairs, you can see two balconies.

This is a separate sitting room for the primary bedroom.

The primary bedroom also has a loft and a fireplace waaay over there. Does anyone know what that red contraption with the roof is?

I'm not impressed with the primary en-suite.

Upstairs in the loft, there's a hot tub room.

Here's an attractive room.

This very large bedroom has a nice walk-in closet.

I wonder if the tree in this bath conveys.

And, this is the bike room.

Combination game room/gym.

Outdoors there's a patio.

Lovely stone wall around the yard and a beautiful fountain.

It's nice back here.

Aerial view of the private yard.

It comes with 58.17 acres of land. Actually, this is a bargain- you get the castle and all that land.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1621-Lions-Health-Camp-Rd-Indiana-PA-15701/78646673_zpid/

[genshin-impact-updates]

The "The Exquisite Night Chimes" wallpaper series is now available!

>>>Click the link to download the wallpapers in different dimensions!<<<

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

So... I don't have a very specific request, I'm just a huge fan of your writing and particularly the smuts you've written with Leon lol, so I wanted to ask for something really naughty like AS PORNOGRAPHIC AS POSSIBLE and maybe related to degradation kink lol please I'M BEGGING YOU NOT TO JUDGE ME, I know this isn't much like canonical leon so feel free to use other characters you like, really just wanted to use the chance of asking you something before you close the requests <33 thanks!!

Okay... Your wish is my command! I hope you don't mind it that since you gave me freedom to pick a character, I actually chose to write Wesker porn. If it's not of your taste you can totally send me another request and istg I'll do it with any character you want lol now, I love Wesker, and I like to keep as close as I can to the cannonical personality, so I should warn this gives a hella toxic and abusive relationship hints! I hope you enjoy it, anon, as well as y'all &lt;;3

Bunny | 3.2k

ao3 | masterlist ✦ Pairing: Albert Wesker x f! reader ✦ Summary: You wake up in Wesker's mansion after accomplishing a difficult mission and he gives you a new drug he's been testing. The effects are quite... dear to you. ✦ TW:  HIGHLY NSFW MINORS DNI, explicit, very explicit, smut, very pornographic, f!reader, little to none f! physical appearence descriptions, very much porn, p in v, degradation kink, unprotected, he cums inside, dirty talk, petcalling, he humiliates you a bit, he's rather toxic as Wesker would be, uses you, no fluff (very slightly in his own wicked way) I inspired this in this song, since I'm dumb and don't know how to embed spotify songs in here, click here if you'd like to hear it &lt;3

You open your eyes to a big, vast dining room in front of you. The walls are adorned with exquisite wallpaper and ornate trimwork. The ceiling is high and vaulted, with beautiful light fixtures hanging from what seems to be golden chains. The room is lavishly furnished with a massive mahogany dining table, with beautiful wine-red chairs that seem to belong to a very expensive collection. Crystal chandeliers cast a dim, flickering light over the table, and paintings in ornate frames hang on the walls, with their eccentric content - suits the owner quite well. 

Doesn’t take you much to realize you’re in Albert’s mansion. You’ve never been here before, only perhaps by the gates, delivering something off to the doorman and that was far from enough to even wonder what secrets lived vivid inside of those walls.

“You’re finally awake… Good.” You hear his voice coming from behind you, and then his hands calmly taking over both your shoulders, his fingers brushing against the thin material of your shirt. As you look down at yourself, you realize you’re wearing completely new clothes, different from the used, semi-destroyed ones you were before on mission. You’re clean, you can feel the delicious smell of your own perfume sprayed along your hair and neck. “You've caused quite a stir among my colleagues, my dear…” He continues, with a faint smirk playing on his lips; you shiver.

“Is that so… May I ask why, Doctor?” You ask, your face lifting just enough over your shoulder so you can look up at him. 

Wesker chuckles softly, his pale blue eyes burning into yours over the rim of his glass. He takes a leisurely sip of wine before setting it down on the table, along with another glass - one he offers to you, in a hand gesture. You accept, sipping a bit from it.

“Do you underestimate yourself? Your talent? Your own dedication to me and my projects, you see - it is enviable for many, bunny.” His predatory grin widens in pointy canines. “And you succeeded again. I trust you encountered no complications in your way? Despite the clear miscommunication at the end, of course, dear I should’ve let you know about my little creation there…”

You feel a mixture of unease and a strange sense of satisfaction at his words. Deep down, you know that you want it - his twisted form of affection, his praising whenever you succeed at something he longs for. You can’t hold back a sly grin from forming on your lips as a response.

“I dealt with it.” You summed. “No witnesses, and your little creation almost killed me, Albert.” You sigh, and Wesker lets out a wicked soft laugh to your commentary. 

“Nonsense… I’d never let you go to waste like that. Do you really have so little faith in me?” One of his hands slides up from your shoulder, trailing a feather-light touch along your neck; fast enough, a motion of his wraps it up around your neck almost entirely. You feel shivers down your spine and straighten up your posture to the sudden bit of force he applies. 

“No, of course not… All I meant is, it was a complication. I don’t think I’d make it if it wasn’t for you.” You admit, your eyes gleaming through the dim light of the chandelier and gazing through his icy crimson eyes. Wesker’s free hand reaches out for your face, grabbing your cheeks between his fingers in a calm yet firm motion; it lifts your face and now you have no other option but to stare deep into his soul-eating eyes.

“Of course you wouldn’t. But then again, that’s what I was there for, hm?” He moves that bit of your hair from your face, wanting to see some more of you. The obscure gleam his eyes get anytime he lays them onto you is a terrifying feeling; not every man you met had enough power to unsettle you. In fact, none, till Albert. Till much before the weird chemistry and the hidden undertones to every aspect of communication between the two of you became unbearable, and you started falling for his disgraceful tongue, the desirable words he’d use against you. You started delivering yourself even further. If someone asked you when did it come down to becoming his personal object of pleasure - his slut, as he’d say himself, you wouldn’t know how to answer. The truth is, this has been happening for too much time now.

You get apprehensive, yet excited - he’s right. He wouldn’t leave you behind, he’d be right there when you needed him. You’re not that foolish - you know his goals are the highest peak of his life, but you definitely made your way to the top tier of his prized possessions, and you know that because it is for you he looks when he’s in need; it is for you he calls. Is that a good thing?

“Hm… you were keeping track of me all of the time? It didn’t look much like.” You ask, your eyes never really leaving his as they burn you in the gratitude facade he keeps whenever talking to you. You look suspicious for a moment, almost like you don’t believe him, like you accuse him of putting you through this risk. This man is a monster; you fell for those pretty lies he tells you; he plays you like a game, and you for one is having too much fun to let go.

“Oh, but I always am.” His thumb brushes your plump lips lightly, you feel fire spreading up across your thighs, a fluttering feeling brushing the walls inside you; your heartbeat speeds up ever so slightly, fact that doesn’t come unnoticed by his superhuman senses, almost like he can hear it - ba-dum, ba-dum. He smiles, a wicked grin, his laugh came out as a little nasal sigh. “Is this defiance I’m sensing right now? Are you mad at me?”

His demeanor is calm, calculated as it usually is; it doesn’t make you any less apprehensive now. Your heart beats faster. You regret doubting him.

“I’d never. You know so.” You refute, as quickly as you can. Your hand calmly reaches for his wrist, trying to ease the pressure he’s applying onto your cheeks right now; he doesn’t.  

"Then give me a kiss." he purrs, his voice filled with an unsettling cruel sense of amusement from the fear he can sense from you; not too much, not enough to make you run away from him, just enough to remind you of your place here. 

Your body leans towards his tall figure, you're devoid of self-preservation when it comes to him; your hand on his wrist seems to anticipate what comes next, when before you can even reach for his lips, his grip around your neck worsens and the air starts to feel thin around you; he doesn’t choke you enough to make you faint, he likes seeing you struggle, and there you are: this pathetic little thing struggling to find some air through his big slender hand, when he didn’t even bother taking off his gloves to touch you skin to skin.

“Where is my kiss, bunny?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowing in a psychopathic face of false pity. You struggle to talk, why do you like this? You feel adrenaline rushing through your veins, the need of winning or at least passing through this game of power he forces you through. “You can’t speak? Pathetic little whore, let me give you some help then.” 

In a sudden and calculated motion, he roughly picks you up by your neck and slams your body against the big dinner table. A cracking sound echoes through the room as his wine glass shatters on the ground, and the chairs move around by his motion. You gag as you desperately look for some air till relief washes over you when he finally loosen up enough so you can pull oxygen in again. You don’t allow a single tear to form in your eyes, no, not yet.

“Now now, I don’t like it when you defy me like this, bunny, just when I complimented your complacency?” He speaks out again while you still try to recompose, slight red handprints appearing across your neck; his red eyes wander over it with a sense of pride, his smile fades like it never existed. He’s sternly piercing at you now, an expression that makes it very clear he pities your struggle.

“It wasn’t my intention, Wesker-” You cough, your gaze following his; your eyes seem to be looking for his although he avoids them for your own torture. Wesker lays his forehead against your shoulder, his free hand lifts the hem of your shirt only enough so he can brush the bare skin of your waist. You thrill, intensely. A weird feeling starts taking over your stomach. “I really thought I’d die in that place.” You admit in a whisper, your voice comes out as a breath that hits hot against his neck skin. As your cheek brushes through his sharp jaw extension, his smell invades your nostrils - male cologne, expensive. 

“You’re suggesting then it was too much for you to handle?” He asks in a whisper against your ear, and you almost let out a warm, low groan in a response.

“No. I can handle it, I can take everything. That’s not- I guess I just-” You interrupt

yourself; his body is way too close to yours, he towers over you, you’re sitting over the edge of that table now with your legs around his waist - you feel something sparkling inside of your belly once again; your core throbs to the simple thought of his proximity to you, his cocks proximity to you. It’s so close, barely there, only a piece of fabric. Your entire body starts feeling weirdly hot, warm, burning desire consuming you as his hand starts pulling you closer, getting rid of any space between the two of you. You can barely breathe right now, What’s with me now? What the fuck…

“You just what, bunny, babbles, rubbish, foolish things, shut up. Talk straight to me.” He orders, and you can sense from his voice tone that he has a devious smile on his face now. Wesker squeezes your waist tight against him, his fingers now digging onto your skin, his lips brushing against your collarbone and you can’t hold the air in your lungs becoming tight in your throat; you let out a needy sigh, a whimper; please undress me. Please, undress me, fuck me, I’m burning up, I can’t take this, please. 

It was at the moment your mind cracked you finally perceived that although you’d tremble just at the thought of Wesker’s cock pushing hard onto your tight walls, that was not a normal reaction of your body. Not by far.

“What did you do to me- ahn.” You ask, your face flushing red, your entire body seems to be out of your control, you’re sweating and catching your breath. He laughs at your weakness. 

His hands start rubbing up your legs, your exposed thighs, grabs tight onto them - his fingers digging like he feels like hurting you today. You moan, incapable of holding your own reactions out; he smirks, raising up your skirt to your waist in a slow, precise motion. Haven’t come to your realization so far, that  you’re not wearing panties.

You can’t be angry at him. You can’t possibly concentrate on anything else but the wave of pleasure you feel at any slight move of his. Wesker pulls his hands back.

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Brushing this needy little cunt of yours against me, you’re wetting my pants, slut.” He reprehends you, standing straight, not moving a muscle now. You look up at him, your eyes shining with need and your mouth watering in, your pussy aching for the touch he denies when he takes his hands off of you.

“Please.” You beg, realizing your hips are pushing against the hardened shape in the bulge of his social pants, staining it with your slick; he barely moves against you, his eyes locked onto your exposed throbbing cunt. 

“You don’t deserve it.” He growls, before his hand palms your navel and starts brushing up your skin to your stomach. Wesker raises the hem of your shirt up enough so he exposes your breasts now and takes a handful of one; without a warning, his grip tightens and you feel your drugged sensitive body squirm in pain, projecting upwards, and your cunt throbs once again as you babble incoherently. “Is my little bunny in heat now?” He whispers against your ear as he bends down to you. 

Thinking you can’t endure another second of this torture, your own hand trails down a path down your belly, and your fingers spread your folds - your middle finger parting them, rubbing at your own knob trying to give yourself some sort of release. He notices what you’re doing by the mewl you let out.

“Disgusting shameless slut…”

His hand grabs yours, stopping you from that momentary relieving pleasure. You whine once again, the heat you feel almost making you come to that very slight touch of his hand against your clit when he holds you. 

“I’m begging.” You pathetically whimper with teary eyes, aching for some more of his touch and as you do, you feel through his pants a throbbing spasm of his stiff cock. His hips push against you willingly this time in a lustful motion and he grunts, expliciting his arousal for seeing you cry. Psychopathic monster. You love that about him. “Wesker, please fuck me. i don’t need anything else just, I- oh-” 

“Shh.” He whispers, and his hand reaches up covering your mouth by grabbing on your cheeks, sushing you, and pushing you sitting up once again. As he does pull back from you, he sits back at the chair you were sitting before, and manspreads; the abrupt motion makes you fall on your knees in between his legs, and he leaves your face. “Earn it.”

You didn’t need a second to start desperately unbuckling his belt, unzipping his pants and setting free his long, throbbing length; it swings up and slaps against his navel, craving for you as you take it all in your small hands and start pumping it. 

Wesker’s obscure crimson eyes watch over you as you struggle to fit his shaft in your mouth, a sloppy mess of saliva decorating the corners of your lips - soon enough, you find your way through. You moan against his skin with your mouth full, in slow, delicious movements like you’re having dinner.

He drops his head back, low and deep pleasure moans coming out of his mouth in a hum, almost like he refuses to give you intense reactions; he slaps you in the face, one, two, three times till you’re a mess with strands of your hair glued to your face.

“Oh- that’s right… Swallow me, fuck- stop, hmm- stop.” He groans, before grabbing a handful of your hair and pulling you back with contained brutality. “Open up.” He orders, and you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out to him; he gathers some saliva in his mouth and spits it against your tongue, to which you willingly swallow. “Whose slut are you?”

“Yours.” You answer quickly enough, and he smirks, straightening up and tapping his lap. 

“Show me then.” He commands, and you finally and desperately hop on his lap, both thighs around him, your hands looking for support around his shoulders which he quickly refuses by grabbing them both together by the wrists on your back. 

With a move of your own hips and without any kind of tactile support, you guide your entrance onto his cock, your head flying back as you feel the warmth of his tip brushing against your dripping wet folds now; you rub yourself against him a couple times and your legs tremble to the shock of pleasure that quickly ran through your lower belly. Without any patience or restraint left in yourself now, you slide down his hard shaft deep inside your walls until your back meets his thighs. 

Your hips start rolling forward against him, his cock stretching your tight walls, a sound echoing through the dining room each time your skin meets his; he pants, squeezing his jaw and tightening his grasp on your wrists.

“Good fucking bitch- ah- so tight-” He groans, one of his hands grabbing painfully onto your waist and guiding you harder each second, his mouth quickly taking over one of your breasts that swing freely in front of him. 

You swear you’re losing your own conscience when your movements are hard enough for you to feel his tip hitting hard against your womb, a painful but pleasure soft spot for you; he thrusts against you again, again, and again, your mind goes blank and you let out a painful lustful moan as you bury his cock deep within yourself once more - hitting your edge, that point where you start feeling your insides twitching and your clit quivering in your deep orgasm.

“God- fuck!” You feel your legs weaken from both the pleasure and your effort, and Wesker uses his hips to lift you up only enough so he can pump his cock inside you a few more times, his face flushed red in effort, the veins in his temples showing up as he twitches his stomach muscles and feel his body contracting once he finally and deliciously releases his hot cum inside you, in spaced spurts of his cock.

He lets go of your hands as you collapse over him with your body exhausted and a bit dizzy, possibly by a residual effect of the drug he gave to you. You close your eyes for a moment, nearly fainting against his chest; 

Wesker holds you firmly, and slowly pulls out from you, fixing you over his lap trying to keep you steady and you give a little mumble in return, your forehead still a bit sweaty from all the effort and the drug withdrawing from your body, slowly,

“You need to rest, don’t you, bunny?” He asks, standing up and fixing his pants in place as he carries you like a bride around his mansion hallways, his hand slowly rubbing your shoulder in hopes you’ll relax and not experience terrible collateral effects now that the drug one is going away for good. “Let’s see how your body reacts… We need to get you prepared for the experimentation, don’t we?” He asks with a clever smile on his lips.

You can’t catch up with his talking, nor hear what he still has to say to you lastly for your body’s too weak and you’re almost fainting. 

He carefully lays you on his own bed and covers your body, fixing the pillow cozily under your head. He observes you for a couple moments, proudly; 

“You’ll be my best creation…” He mutters, caressing your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Rest well, bunny.”

[astarikadesign]

Enhance your digital space with our exquisite Cozy Desktop Wallpaper Collection – featuring 5 stunning designs, all in high-definition 4K resolution (3840x2160px).

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[degournay]

Degournay presents" Azure on Scenic Paper," a witching masterpiece that brings the serene beauty of azure skies to your walls. Strictly handcrafted using traditional ways, this exquisite wallpaper showcases delicate brushstrokes that capture the substance of nature's tranquility. With a careful mix of art and artificer, Degournay's" Azure on Scenic Paper" creates a serene air, transubstantiating any space into a haven of dateless fineness. Indulge in the appeal of azure skies with Degournay and witness the transformative power of their exceptional scenic wallpaper.

[vey-does-stuff]

The most exquisite duality I've ever seen. Roger Clark is Arthur ; Arthur is Roger Clark. One soul, but he's lived twice already.

(download this wallpaper in HD)

roger's signature in the middle <3

[martiandmichelle]

Roxy -

As I wrote in a post a couple days ago, Roxy and I got divorced late winter this year after 3½ years of marriage. We still love each other and still have sex with each other on our own terms (meaning not just on porn sets). She used her gift of wonder over my body and an inspiration to be the best I - and everyone around her - can be. For my part, I took a wallpaper girl and now all agree she is wise well beyond her 27 years. I didn't do that for her, but maybe I gave her the confidence to do it herself.

So why? Surely our age gap (46 years difference) played a part. Also, being married to a porn actress and model as busy as myself may have helped her career as a writer but it was also straining as you watch your wife having exquisite sex with many men and women. And, lastly, Roxy fount Mirren and Mirren found Roxy.

And who is Mirren: we've mentioned her name a few times. When Mirren first joined us she chose the name Nicola. She changed that performer name to Kwanta when Emily started calling her that after Emily said Mirren's body was a "quantum (read Kwanta) leap" beyond anyone else's. When she moved into the upper echelon of our studio she changed her name once more to Mirren in honor of her favorite actress Helen Mirren and because like myself, Michelle, and Maria, she wanted her name to start with an "M." (I told her to please chose a name and stick with it this time.)

So what makes Mirren this "quantum leap?" She's strikingly beautiful with incredible legs. She stands a slender 5'8". Her hair is a lovely auburn. But where's this "quantum leap?" When Mirren first came to us (sent by corporate to us for training), she went by her given name: RORY! Yep, Mirren spent most of life being identified as a man. But not your ordinary man, but a man that statistically shouldn't exist. I remember well the day Dana introduced the man Rory to us all. I think we all looked at each other at first with a "what's up with him?" expression; that was, until he lowered his pants. And there, half hard, was by far the biggest cock we had ever seen - and we had seen them up to 13 + inches. Even half hard this thing was the biggest with the largest set of balls we had ever seen. But the term "half hard" was the catch. Seems Rory was sent to us to see if we could get him fully hard. While most of us gazed in wonder at it or even came to him and stroked it (as I was the first to do) it still never got hard, even when I pulled my tits out and rubbed that monster between them.

During our "what do we do with him and THAT" discussion, Dana called out our makeup manager (Daphne) and our head seamstress (Wendy) for having a side conversation. When asked to explain themselves, Wendy answered for the two of them: "The problem is that everyone just assumes he is as he appears as everyone focuses on that." She pointed to his gigantic cock. "But if you can take your eyes off that thing for a few minutes the problem becomes obvious: The rest of Rory is a SHE!"

With that, Rory let out a "YES!" and became much more animated. And her (at that point we all considered Rory a "her") cock rapidly grew to full length and massive hardness. And we all stared in wonder at the WONDER before us as Rory became who she was meant to be: Nicola then Kwanta until lastly Mirren.

And Mirren immediately chose Roxy to be her best friend and, soon thereafter, the lover she had been waiting for.

I'll stop there. I'll miss you by my side every night, dear Roxy, but you have an incredible new wife in Mirren, and one about your same age. We'll keep making love, you and I, and I will always thank you for making me alive again after Jake's death.

As the song goes: "I Will Always Love You!"

(More on Mirren to come.)

[yaksha-lover]

Daydreams

Vil x reader, background Rook x reader

cw: pretentious vil introspection, unrequited love, slight angst(?)

When Rook first introduced you to him, Vil never thought twice about you.

He doesn’t bother learning the names of Rook’s latest obsessions, whether that be Vil’s fellow celebrities or his paramours. His friend had always been a fanatic of beauty, always searching for the next exquisite thing. It meant that he didn’t stay in one place, or with one person, for very long.

When you stuck around- that surprised him.

Still, he’d expected Rook to be done with you soon enough. Whether it took a month or a year, he’d been sure Rook would move on eventually.

It struck him suddenly one day when Rook had handed over spare keys to your and his new apartment, that you’d integrated yourself into their lives. Or rather, Rook’s life, and his by proxy.

He hadn’t exactly understood what Rook saw in you.

You’d always been ordinary. That’s why he’d barely noticed you at first, trailing behind Rook like you could disappear into the wallpaper any second. You were shy, barely having the confidence to meet his eyes when Rook proudly presented you to him. Even as your boyfriend lavished praise after praise on you, all you could do was hide behind his shoulder bashfully. Vil had been pleasant, for Rook’s sake, but he hadn’t much cared for yours. If all you would ever be is another mousy little thing, Vil was hardly interested.

On days when he has too much time to himself, Vil wonders if things would’ve been different if he’d met you first.

He doubts it. Doubts that he wouldn’t have made the same mistake, sizing you up before you’d even had a chance. No, Vil thinks he would’ve destroyed you.

Rook had seen you and known you could be more. But he’d loved you as you were, not as who you could become. Rook had loved you unconditionally, and that had helped you grow and blossom into your true potential.

You’d been good for Rook too, supported him in all of his passions, encouraged and partook in his interests. You’d given him a home, too. Somewhere that grounded Rook without limiting him.

Would Vil have been able to love you like that? To never ask more of you? To not push and pull until you shattered into a broken image of who he’d like you to be?

Would you have been able to love him?

-

Vil wakes up in the hospital. Some serious injuries from his accident, but he’ll live.

Rook is the first to visit.

When he asks for you, he expects his old friend to be angry at him, but he isn’t. Rook looks at him with pity, and Vil thinks that is much, much worse.

You rush in from the waiting room and immediately embrace him. The touch is gentle, barely there. He knows it’s because you’re trying to be considerate of his injury, but it still stings at his chest. When you pull away to check over him, he can almost convince himself your touch was just his delusion.

He wonders, sometimes, if you know the truth. Sometimes he has dreams that you do. That you’ve found out. Your reaction varies from dream to dream. Sometimes you’re happy and you feel the same. Other times you slap him, ask how he could do this to Rook. He’s not sure which he prefers.

He knows, though. Vil knows that you have no idea how he feels. You would never try to touch him, never keep him in your life if you did. Your morals are as strong and unyielding as your love for Rook. You’d be angrier at him than his old friend would be. Even so, he knows Rook would rather lose him than ever give you up. That part hurts too. Not only does Rook have you, but you have Rook. You’ve taken him from Vil too.

He knows Rook knows. He’s in love with you too, after all.

The two of you have each other, and he is left alone.

He can see it when you finally stop fussing over him to greet your fiancé, just like he sees it every day. He sees it in the way your hand finds its place on Rook’s like it’s just another part of a whole. Vil sees it when Rook turns and sees you. He doesn’t just look at you, he sees you. He sees your strengths and your faults and your shortcomings and he still loves you. No, not in spite of, but because of them.

Vil sees himself getting left behind.

Despite being the patient, Vil feels like the intruder in the room. The two of you are talking about nothing special, but he feels like a voyeur; spying on two lovers sharing a deeply intimate moment.

When both of you turn your gaze back to him, you immediately get up and rush toward him. You’re fussing again and he - he doesn’t know why. Why do you bother even being nice to him? He’s nothing to you, just your fiancé’s friend. Why are you so kind, so soft?

Rook’s hand glides across his cheek and Vil feels the wetness spread. His tears have dried by now, and still you rush for the nurse, saying how he should’ve told you that his pain level was still so bad.

When the nurse is gone and Vil’s head is even fuzzier, you sit at his bedside. Rook has gone to bring the two of you some food since you insisted on staying by his side in case he needed you once more. He wishes he could ask you never to leave.

You scold him and tell him that he never has to put up a facade for you. That almost makes him smile.

He can be happy like this, Vil tells himself. He can be satisfied, as long as you’re in his life, even if you’ll never be in his arms.

[marvelmusing]

In Another Life

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alternate Universe!Reader

Summary: One moment you’re going about your usual day, the next you’re in Ravka - the fictional country in a fictional universe. When you realise that the story you know by heart hasn’t even begun, there’s only one person you can think of going to.

Warnings: canon level violence, threat, minor injury, the reader has a rough first day in Ravka

A/N: lots of people liked the look of this idea so here’s the first part, I definitely want to make this a series as well. In this fic, the netflix show doesn’t exist, but the shadow and bone book has some elements from the show in it.

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist • Next Part

“I need to speak with General Kirigan.”

Chin raised, you survey each of the guards evenly with as much confidence you can gather, trying to determine which one of them is in charge.

They are all wearing the oprichniki uniform, though they appear to be on a break as they lean against a wall that sits by the small metal gate leading to the Little Palace. The palace itself is hidden behind the large stone gateway in front of you.

A tall man with a dark beard lifts a brow in your direction, taking the cigarette away from his lips as he speaks.

“The General isn’t available.” There’s a pause as he looks you up and down. “And certainly not for the likes of you.”

“Tell him I know where the sun summoner is.”

The guards surrounding you laugh, and the man closest to you grins mockingly.

“Yeah, and I’ve found the Firebird.”

Unfazed by their laughter, you cross your arms over your chest.

“I won’t leave until you’ve told him that. If he refuses to see me, I’ll leave. But until then I’m not leaving.”

The man who addressed you before is clearly the superior, and now he steps forward with his eyes narrowed. You’re telling the truth. Your only hope at the moment is that the General will allow you to speak to him. You have nowhere else to go.

He holds your determined gaze for a long moment, before he sighs and glances over at the woman leaning against the gate.

“Ana?” She shrugs.

“I fancied a walk anyway.” Her eyes meet yours and her face hardens as she issues a command for you to, “Wait here.”

She opens the gate and sets off down the path which you assume leads to the Little Palace. The gate swings shut behind her, and one of the other guards slides a bolt into place, keeping it shut.

Despite your display of confidence with the guards, nerves run through the entirety of your body. One of the younger guards offers you a cigarette, which you decline.

Ana seems to be gone for a frightening length of time. Once the guards have finished their break they return to their positions and you lean against a nearby stone wall as you wait.

You’re staring very hard at the ground, trying to come up with a backup plan for if the General won’t speak to you.

Joining the First Army wouldn’t guarantee the opportunity to find Alina. Unless you were purposefully useless during training, maybe you could request to join the cartographers? But even then, how could you tell Alina about a power she has buried inside her when you have no way of proving it to her?

At the sound of metal clanging shut you lift your head up. Ana seems just as surprised as you are when she says,

“Come with me.”

The Little Palace is beautiful. As Ana leads you down a gravelled pathway, you catch your first sight of it which steals the breath from your lungs. It’s far grander than you ever could have imagined, and your eyes are wide as you follow her through the entrance.

She walks like a soldier, shoulders straight with her head level as she makes her way through the corridors, her heavy boots thudding against the oak flooring. Meanwhile, your head is tilted towards the ceiling, admiring the ornate carvings painted in gold. The wallpaper that lines the walls of each corridor is exquisite, a soft cream colour with intricate patterns.

It’s only once she stops in front of a set of dark wooden doors that you remember why you’re here. The sun in eclipse is carved into the door, and the sight of it sobers you. She knocks, and you hear a man’s voice call out,

“Enter.”

The walls of the war room are lined with maps and papers. You don’t spend too much time admiring the room, as your eyes land on its sole occupant. The Darkling. General Kirigan sits at the war table in the centre of the room, a pencil in hand as he writes something down.

“Moi soverenyi,” Ana says in greeting, bowing lightly. The General only nods in acknowledgement, his eyes never leaving the page in front of him.

“You may leave us, Petrova.” The casual command in his voice makes you shiver. She bows again.

He still doesn’t look up at you, and you’re certain this is some sort of intimidation technique because it is most certainly working.

“My guard tells me you know the sun summoner,” he remarks casually, as if he’s merely making small talk as he works. Your mouth opens then shuts, and you fumble over your words before they can even leave your lips.

“I know of her,” you say, fiddling with your fingers as you admit, “I haven’t actually met her.” There’s a beat of silence before you throw out a stilted, “Sir.”

At this he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours for the first time, and you don’t breathe for a solid five seconds. He raises a questioning brow as he observes you.

“And who exactly might she be?”

“Alina Starkov. She’s an Assistant Cartographer in the First Army.”

His brows furrow lightly as he leans back in his chair, discarding his pencil and resting his elbows on the dark wooden arms beneath him. He dismisses your claim immediately.

“That’s impossible. Grisha testers would have discovered her power when she was a child.”

“And if she suppressed her power when she was tested?” He tilts his head slightly.

“If she did, I might ask how you would know of such a thing.”

“I don’t know whether you’ll believe me.”

“Tell me.”

At this point you falter, eyes dropping down to look at the floor, then the table as you struggle to find the words to describe what had happened.

“Let’s say that the making at the heart of the world is actually the making of all the worlds. A centre of sorts, where every world is connected.”

You don’t dare to look at the General as you continue slowly, considering your each and every word carefully.

“Let’s say that I’m from a world where everyone is otkazat’sya, and Ravka is a fictional country. That everyone here only exists in my world as characters in a book.”

Considering the fact that you don’t know exactly how you appeared in this world, you think you’ve explained the unexplainable rather well. Though the look on the General’s face doesn’t comfort you.

His next words baffle you.

“Prove it.”

“Wha- How?”

“Tell me something only I would know. That you know because you have read this supposed book.”

With Alina being the protagonist, you know very little of the General’s internal monologue, or what has happened in his life, especially at this point in time, when the story hasn’t begun. Almost everything you know about him is from Alina’s point of view. Almost everything.

“You first used the Cut when you were thirteen years old during an attempt on your life.”

He goes very still.

This was an incredibly bad idea.

Because if you know about that, you know when it happened. You know he’s been alive for centuries. And if you know that, then you know he is the Black Heretic.

Every one of your heartbeats echo thunderously in your head, and when you glance down at your hands you realise you’re shaking. He stands with an unreadable expression on his face, the shadows around him lengthening.

The darkness creeps over the floor, heading straight for you and you fight the urge to flinch as the sunlight from the nearby window is extinguished.

“What else?” he asks in a low voice, hard as steel, and you scramble to think of something, anything to prove to him that you aren’t lying or crazy.

Deep down, you know there’s one thing he wants to hear from you. Whether you know his biggest secret - who he is and what he’s done.

“I know that Baghra is your mother.”

He takes slow, measured steps towards you, rounding the war table as he speaks again, and you fight every urge inside you to turn tail and flee. He would catch you. He could cut you in half before you reach the door.

“What else?”

“I know that you’re a lot older than you’re currently pretending to be.”

That’s as close as you can get without explicitly saying it. But it isn’t enough for him. With one final step, he stands directly in front of you, a towering figure that stares down at you. His voice is quiet as he repeats himself for one final time.

“What else?”

Throwing caution to the wind, you hold his gaze as you say it.

“I know you’re the Black Heretic. That you created the Fold.”

There’s a pause as he stares into your eyes. His words are even quieter as he asks,

“Are you afraid of me?”

“To some extent,” you admit honestly.

From how close he is, you can hear the small breath of amusement as it leaves his lips, and you hurry to explain yourself.

“I know that right now I’m a liability for you, and you’re trying to figure out whether my usefulness outweighs the damage I could do.”

He raises a brow at you.

“And?”

“And…” Your voice fades, looking down as you think it all over in your mind. Then you sigh. “You have no reason to believe me. But you know what a lie looks like, and I’m not lying. Am I?”

You don’t know where this sudden burst of confidence has come from, but you know your words are true. He’s lived for centuries. This can’t be the strangest thing that’s happened to him. Surely he would keep you alive, if only out of curiosity.

He tilts his head aside, a half-smile curling at his lips as the darkness begins to fall away.

“You haven’t given me your name.”

Hardly believing that this is his reaction, you tell him it softly and he repeats your name in a murmur. It’s only then that the surreality of the situation hits you.

He steps backwards, putting a casual amount of distance between the two of you, and warm sunlight settles over your skin once again. He looks away, glancing at the war table momentarily before he turns his head in your direction.

“I’ll have you shown to a room. Remain there until I decide what to do with you.”

You nod.

You’re not upset, or even worried, by his words. If anything, this is the best case scenario. He isn’t sending you down to the dungeons to be tortured for information. Despite the nerves still lingering in your body, you manage to push out the words,

“Thank you.”

There’s a calculating edge in his eyes, as he observes the genuine expression of gratitude on your face. He doesn’t acknowledge you, and you have the impression that you’ve confused him.

He heads towards one of the doors leading into the hallway, opens it, and speaks lowly to one of the oprichnik posted there, no doubt issuing orders to prepare a room for you.

Your eyes meet his for a moment as he closes the door and turns back towards the war table beside you.

“May I ask you something?” You nod. “Why come to me? Why not let the story unfold as it should?”

It’s a good point. But you don’t want the story to go as it should. There’s a sharp twist in your heart as you look at him, as the end of his story plays on a loop in your head. A knife in his chest, the Fold falling apart around him. You can’t let that happen to him.

“I want to help,” you tell him with a light shrug, before you look down at the space between you. “I’m not Grisha, I don’t have a power that can change the world…” At that you look up at him. “But you do. If I can help you make Ravka a better, safer place for both Grisha and otkazat’sya, why wouldn’t I?”

“That won’t happen without your interference?” He muses with a raised brow, and you hesitate before answering. You can’t tell him that he won’t achieve it in his lifetime.

“There are some complications along the way.”

“You want to avoid those,” he states and you nod.

There’s a knock at the door, and the General straightens himself before he calls out a sharp,

“Enter.”

Ana the oprichnik opens the door, glancing between you and the General before she bows lightly in his direction.

“The vezda suite has been prepared, moi soverenyi.”

His attention is fixed on you.

“Petrova will show you to your room. I hope I don’t need to tell you to stay there until I send for you.”

You nod.

“I’ll stay,” you tell him, meaning every word of it.

Ana leads you through the hallways, and you follow as quickly as you can. You’re glad of the opportunity to see more of the Little Palace. There’s a few Grisha milling about, but they don’t pay you much attention.

She opens a door, revealing the suite prepared for you. It’s stunning. Eyes wide, you look over everything in awe. The colours are light and delicate, and the sun shines through lace curtains, casting its rays over the smooth wooden flooring.

The door shuts behind you, and you’re finally alone.

For a few minutes all you can do is stare at the furniture and walls surrounding you. Footsteps echoing over the floor, you peek into the bathroom, eyeing the large bath tub and other facilities. It’s so much grander than you could have imagined.

You hardly dare to touch anything, as if once your hands settle onto the chair or one of the tables everything will disappear. Like none of this is actually real.

Sitting down at the vanity table, you spot some paper and a pencil, and soon you’re channeling your nervous energy into doodles. Flowers and leaves and a stag. Clouds and sunshine. Tiny little scribbles that allow you to focus on one thing, rather than the fifty million things you should be thinking about.

A few hours pass, and the sunlight begins to fade. With a few tentative attempts, you manage to lift the glass shade of the lantern by your desk, and you feel rather proud as the room is filled with warm light once the lamp has been lit.

The sound of the door opening attracts your attention.

Lifting your head up from your drawings, you soon spot the oprichnik who shuts the door behind her. She isn’t familiar, though you had only seen a few of the oprichniki so far, and her Ravkan accent is heavy as she speaks,

“The General wants to see you.”

You nod, turning back to face the mirror as you push the seat back a little. Before you can react, she’s behind you, a string pulled hard against your throat. Writhing against her, you gasp but fail to draw in any air and panic grips you.

Kicking hard, luckily your foot manages to meet the vanity table, knocking the two of you backwards. The fall sends you both sprawling, and your lungs heave in air as you stumble forwards. Barely thinking, you seize the letter opener on the table.

At the sound of her approaching you again, you swirl the letter opener out in an arch, wielding it in her general vicinity. She cries out, clutching her arm with a vexed growl. There’s a splatter of blood on the floor, and you almost drop your makeshift weapon.

Instead you grip it tighter as she pushes you against the wall, your arms trapped between your body and hers, you try to push the end of the piece of stationary towards her chest.

Horror fills you as she frees her hand, her fingers flexing in an unfamiliar motion, and the metal curves in your hand, twisting into a useless lump. Grasping your hair, she slams your head against the wall, and the world goes black for a moment.

Consciousness returns to you only seconds later, blood pounding through your head, stars sparkling over your vision as you realise you’re lying crumpled on the floor.

The door opens, and the hands leave you.

“General Kirigan,” she says in surprise, looking down at you. “Your guest dragged me in here and attacked me.”

Tears are flooding down your face, as your lips part in shock. This is it. Just when you thought he might be able to trust you, you’re framed for assault. With wide, frightened eyes you can only stare at the General as he nods to the heartrender beside him in a silent order.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you prepare yourself to lose control over your heart, for your blood to burn in your body, and to die a grizzly death. An sob escapes your throat, and you hope dying in this universe sends you home. There’s a heavy thud, and your heart slows a little, but you’re not dying.

Tentatively, you open your eyes. The oprichnik that attacked you is lying unconscious on the floor, though you can hardly give her much thought as the General crouches down at your side.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, holding out his hand towards you. More tears pool in your eyes. Your head aches terribly, as does your throat and arms.

“A little.” Tremors shudder through your body, and you reach out towards his hand. Fingers curling around his sleeve, and with little thought of his reaction, you tug him closer, collapsing against his chest.

“Ivan, send for a healer,” he orders, and in the distance you hear the thudding of boots as the heartrender retreats.

The General’s hand cups the back of your head, keeping your face pressed against his chest as you take in a few sharp, shuddering breaths. His other arm wraps firmly around your body, hand settled against your side as he shields you from the scene.

“You’ll stay with me tonight,” he insists.

You don’t respond verbally, but you’re certain he feels the weak nod of your head.

The next hour passes in a muffled blur. The General guides you through the hallways towards his quarters. He sits you down at his vanity table, and a healer soon arrives to fix up your wounds. Her touch is delicate, though the healing itself prickles uncomfortably over your skin. She urges you to rest, but tells you there’s no cause for concern.

Her healing hasn’t removed the heavy exhaustion that has settled into your bones, or the anxiety causing your mind to run overdrive. You thank her all the same, as she leaves.

“I should have known this would happen,” you admit in a whisper, staring at nothing as your mind runs rapid, considering each of your thoughts frantically.

As if clouded by fog, your gaze slides over to the General, his arms crossed as he leans his hip against his vanity table.

“How could you have?”

“Baghra makes an offhand comment to Alina about having some Grisha that are loyal to her. Meaning they aren’t loyal to you.” His jaw tenses slightly at your revelation. “When one of your trackers finds the stag she has a Grisha, disguised as an oprichnik, try to kill him.”

Tears slip down your cheeks, but they’re borne of frustration rather than upset or fear. You need to be smarter from now onwards, but how can you? Baghra has lived for centuries. She’s ruthless, and here you are crying.

“She must have heard I knew about the sun summoner. Saints, if she found out what I actually know she would kill me herself.”

The General opens up his wardrobe, and after a moment of consideration he selects a black shirt and walks over to you with it in his hands. His presence beside you pulls you from your thoughts, and you glance up at him before looking down at the shirt with a frown.

“For you to sleep in.”

Your cheeks warm, but you take his shirt all the same, murmuring a small,

“Thank you.” He nods in acknowledgement, before he turns and sits on the sofa beside his bed with his face turned away from you, looking out of the window. Taking that as your cue to change, you do so quickly.

Once you’re dressed you sit at the end of his bed and clear your throat to signal that he can look at you. There’s an unreadable expression on his face as he looks at you, sitting on his bed wearing his shirt.

He stands slowly, giving you a small bow before he says,

“I’ll bid you goodnight.”

He’s walking by you when you reach out and grasp hold of the sleeve of his kefta.

“Stay, please. I know you have to go and deal with what’s happened but… I just don’t want to be alone.”

Part of you might have felt bad, pulling the alone card on him, but you’re too tired and anxious to think about it. If it takes a little manipulation to get him to stay - to keep you safe - you don’t care.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep,” he concedes. “When I leave I’ll lock the door behind me. The doors to the war room are already locked.”

“What about the secret door?” you ask, mind immediately filled with visions of Baghra stepping through with a knife in her hands, ready to kill you while you sleep. He tilts his head aside with surprise in his eyes. “The one behind the bookcase,” you add.

“Come with me.”

You follow him as he steps into the war room, rounding the table as he heads towards the bookcase in the corner of the room. The one that hides the secret passageway.

He ensures that you’re watching him, as he reaches towards the back of the shelf where a small bolt is fixed to the wooden back. He slots it closed.

“It’s that simple?” you ask in a near whisper, thinking over how easily Alina running away could have been prevented. A tiny bolt. He nods.

He makes a show of trying to open each door leading into the hallway, and a small smile tugs at your lips as he presses his shoulder against the door whilst tugging on the handle. It’s a little over the top, but you appreciate it.

Once you return to his bedroom you slide under the covers, and the General opens a drawer in his vanity table. He takes out something, and steps closer to the end of the bed to show you it. A dark metal key.

“I’m the only one who has a key to this room.”

You nod, biting down on your bottom lip as you think. It isn’t long before you have another issue.

“A fabrikator could unlock the door,” you reason, remembering how your attacker had twisted the metal of your letter opener with her power.

You’re certain the General must be getting tired of you and your worries, but he merely nods and seems to give your suggestion some serious thought.

“Is there a Grisha you trust?”

You consider his words, running through a list of Grisha that you can think of, then questioning which ones you could rely on.

“Fedoyr.”

“I shall have Fedoyr posted outside until I return.”

That reassures you. Very little could get through a heartrender, and as far as you know Fedoyr is a good person. You nod in agreement, offering him a tiny smile.

“Thank you.”

He looks conflicted for a moment, and you decide to ignore whatever it is he’s thinking about while you’re settling yourself under the covers. After a moment of hesitation, the General sits down beside you, his back leaning against the dark oak headboard.

Eyelids heavy, once you have your arms curled around one of his pillows, pressing it firmly against your face and chest, you manage to relax a little. Your shoulders sink as you exhale, and sleep tugs you closer into its embrace.

The last thing you’re conscious of is a feather light touch, stroking at the crease between your brows and down the bridge of your nose.

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift

[sparkly-scales]

Masquerade Ascended Astarion x Female Tav *Smut*

Masquerade

ObsidianRose96

Summary:

Gods, why were you even here? You had absolutely no business attending this masquerade, you didn’t even have an invitation. But when you had read about the grand party that was being hosted in the Baldur’s Gazette you just had to go. You kept telling yourself it was for closure. You had to see him one last time, to get a quick glimpse of him living his best life without you before finally moving on with your own. But as you sip on a glass of wine, watching the festivities from the corner of the ball room, you're not so sure that’s the case.

Notes:

Hey guys it's me again! I took a little break from writing. This is more of a warm up one-shot more than anything. I'm still trying to perfect smut. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy it. As always your support, kudos, mean the world to me and I appreciate it so much. You guys are the best!

Work Text:

It was easy to slip into the ballroom undetected. Your mask and couture blended in seamlessly amongst the sea of faces waltzing and parading around the vast mansion that was formerly known as the Czarr palace. You weren’t sure what name it went by nowadays. You hadn’t stepped foot in the place since you had fought its former occupant. Not since your former lover had taken up ownership. 

It looked much different than it previously had. The decrepit flooring and old crimson colored wallpapers had been replaced with carpentry more suited to Lord Acunin's tastes. The wooden floor that was starting to rot had been replaced with polished marble and the walls now boasted exquisite paints. Glimmering golds and dark hues decorated the once drab and dated walls. As you walk further inside the realization of what you were doing begins to dawn on you.

Gods, why were you even here? You had absolutely no business attending this masquerade, you didn’t even have an invitation. But when you had read about the grand party that was being hosted in the Baldur’s Gazette you just had to go. You kept telling yourself it was for closure. You had to see him one last time, to get a quick glimpse of him living his best life without you before finally moving on with your own. But as you sip on a glass of wine, watching the festivities from the corner of the ball room, you're not so sure that’s the case.

You shouldn't be here. The little voice in your head shouts. You know you shouldn't be here...you know what he is, what he's become. You're throwing yourself into the lion's den. If he finds out you're here he'll-  

“M’lady?” 

You’re snapped out of your thoughts as a fellow patron bows to you. A young nobleman by the looks of it. “You’re looking rather lonely on this fine evening. May I have a dance?”

You shake your head. “I apologize, but I’m not really the dancing type. Thank you for your invitation though. You flash a small smile at him and he moves on, leaving you to back your thoughts once again. Until a flash of silver from across the room catches your eye. And for the first time in 10 years you see him. 

Him.

The person you fled from, the person you told yourself countless nights you never wanted to see again. The man who still haunted your dreams. The man who still appeared in your nightmares.

The man whose memory still made your heart flutter and your loins ache. 

He’s the only one in the room not wearing a mask. Typical Astarion. So vain that even during a masquerade he has to make sure his handsome looks don’t go unnoticed. He looks almost exactly the same as he did when you had last seen him. That mirthful grin of his played on his lips as he spoke with a group of nobles and his crimson colored eyes bore into them as he held their gazes, letting them know that he was the one who was in charge around here. The only differences you could see from your position was that his hair was the slightest bit shorter, neatly trimmed for the night's grande event. And his skin, once the color of ivory, now had a hint of color. 

He was as beautiful as you remembered him to be. Maybe even more so.

Your heart begins to beat rapidly against your chest with such force that you feel yourself getting dizzy. Be it the copious amount of wine you've already consumed or the sudden bout of anxiety you were feeling, (or perhaps both) you find yourself having to lean against a nearby wall for support as you take a moment to calm yourself. Now you were really having regrets about attending tonight's festivities. Seeing him for the first time in years was threatening to surface all of the feelings you had repressed for far too long. They threaten to come back to you, to bubble over your common sense as you silently watch him from afar, studying him as he continues to converse with the group of nobles. 

"Tav? Tav Is that you?"

You jump a little, surprised to hear your name. But you breathe a sigh of relief when you look over to see Wyll standing in front of you. Even with his face shielded by his masquerade attire his voice is unmistakable. "Oh, thank the gods, it’s just you.”

"Tav, what in the nine hells are you doing here?" He whispers. 

"I-I just- you fumble your words as you try to get them out. "I don't really know, honestly”

He shakes his head. “All the work I’ve put in to help you stay hidden from him and here you are, like a fly in a spider's web.”

“I know, I’m such an idiot.” You say, running a hand down your face. “By the way, what are you doing here? I thought you couldn’t stand Astarion."

"I can’t. He’s a pompous asshole. But If you must know, I’m trying to secure funding for the city. As much as he makes me want to drive a stake through his ribs, we could always use his coin. But enough about that, Tav, do you know how much danger you're putting yourself in? You know as soon as he finds out you're here-"

"He won't find out if you keep it down!" You say. "In fact, I was just thinking about leaving. I'm starting to feel rather faint. I think the wine's starting to go to my head."

"Good. The sooner you leave the better I'll feel." Says Wyll. "If you need help, come find me. But try to stay as far away from him as possible. I'll swing by your place later to make sure you made it back home safely."

"Don’t worry about me too much. You know me, I can be as slippery as a snake.” You boast.

“Not when you’re drunk.” He says.

A young noblewoman clears her throat, catching the attention of both you and your former companion. "Duke Ravenguard, may I have a dance?" She asks. 

"Go on Wyll, show her your moves. I'll go ahead and take my leave."

Wyll nods at you and links arms with the young woman, leading her out onto the dancefloor. You decide that it's probably for the best that you leave. You did what you came there to do. You got one last look at him and now it was time to go. You look around to steal just one last glance but as you do you notice something that makes the color of your skin fade. 

He's looking right at you. His eyes are fixated on you, as if he can clearly see through your masked disguise. He flashes you a devious smirk.

He knows . 

Gods he knows . 

If there was any hope of you finally escaping him, of escaping the feelings that were so close to resurfacing you had to leave. Now. 

You quickly make an effort to disappear amongst the crowd of people, bumping into them as you bob and weave between the sea of patrons. 

God’s this was a terrible idea! A terrible, incredibly stupid, idea!

The wine was really starting to take effect as you try and find an exit, but it's hard to distinguish anything amongst the crowd. In the distance you see a door which you quickly make your way towards. But when you open it, it just leads into a hallway. "Gods damn it!" You mutter under your breath. You quickly maneuver through it, losing your heeled shoes to help you move quicker. You quickly sprint down it, keeping light on your feet, hoping that it’s an exit of some sort. Only, you find it leads to another vast hallway. You stop for a moment to assess your surroundings, looking for another possible exit, when you hear the sound of boots clicking against the marbled floors. The hair on the back of your neck stands straight up and you know without a doubt in your mind that it's him. 

You see another door at the end of the hallway and quickly yet as quietly as you possibly can, run towards it, finding it leads into the kitchen. From there you end up in another hallway. Gods damn it, when did this place get so big? 

As you stand there his footsteps seem to grow quicker, closer, louder. He's closing in on you. You look around and see yet another door. You open it and to your dismay it's a room. One of his servants quarters it seems. There's no way to escape, no windows to climb out of, no ladders leading up to the roof. Your only option is to hide. And so you do, ducking into a closet, trying your best to stay as still and as quiet as possible. 

The sound of his footsteps draw closer, and closer, until they suddenly stop. You hear the doorknob to the room you're hiding in being turned and the door softly open. 

You can hear him walking around outside of your hiding place, shuffling around the room. Then just as quickly as he had entered you hear him leave, shutting the door behind him. You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding and wait for about half an hour before coming out of your hiding place. 

But as soon as you step out of the closet you feel something cold and hard press up against your neck. 

The steel blade of a dagger. You feel goosebumps starting to rise on your skin as the blade presses harder, threatening to break your soft, delicate, flesh. 

"Well, well. Look who it is. Do you know how rude it is to show up to someone's party uninvited?" He asks. "I thought you had better etiquette than that darling." 

"F-forgive me. I'll go, I'll leave right now, I swear! Just don't slit my throat, please."

He chuckles darkly. "I never thought you'd be one to beg for your life, darling. Don't worry, I don't plan on killing you. Not yet anyways. I wouldn't want to spill any of your delicious blood on my floors." He says, as he puts his dagger back its sheath. He spins you around and yanks your feathered mask off of your face. "I can't believe it. After all these years, after all the time and resources I spent looking for you, you have the gall to just waltz right back into my home! Why? Why are you here Tav? And don’t even think about lying to me!" He shouts. 

"I...I came for closure. I thought seeing you one last time would help me to move on with my life. After all of the anger, pain, and hurt you caused me, I thought perhaps seeing you happy and well off without me would help me begin the process of starting over."

You look up at him in shock as he laughs. "You're trying to move on? From me? By the god's Tav, I'm insulted!" He shoves you onto the small bed sitting in the corner of the room. "Tell me darling, Did you find someone new? You're true love perhaps?" He asks, mockingly. 

“No, but I want to.”

You try to sit up but he pushes you back down. “Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“I’ve been here, in Baldur’s gate.”

“Don’t lie to me Tav!” He growls. 

“I swear! I live over by the General store in the Lower City. I never left Baldur’s Gate!”

.

“Impossible! If that were true, I would have known. I would have been able to track you down by the scent of your blood.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. Gale crafted a potion for me. One that masks my scent so heavily that it’s undetected. I’ve been living under your nose this entire time.”

“All the time and money I spent searching for you just to find out you’ve been living in Baldur’s Gate this entire time.”

“The entire time. And I’m trying to start my life over again. I want to move on Astarion. I want to move to Waterdeep, find someone new, maybe start a family, expand my business. All you have to do is let me go and we can both forget about one another.”

He laughs again, this time it seems much more forced. "Darling, you're too much! Do you honestly think I'm going to let you leave again? After I spent such a long time looking for you? You've no idea the nights that I've spent pining for you, the hundreds of lovers I've taken on expecting them to be like you. None of them could compare!" He says, as he crawls on top of you. "You're mine! It was a mistake not turning you the night I ascended. My desire to feel the warmth of your flesh, to feel the beating of your heart overtook my senses. A mistake I've regretted every day since you fled from me. I will not make that mistake again!"

You wince as he takes out his dagger once more, afraid he's going to plunge it into you. Instead he lines the sharpened edge up with the middle of your gown and slides it down the fabric, slicing through it with ease. Your bra and underwear go next, leaving you completely bare before him. 

"Gods, I've missed this body. You've filled out nicely over the years darling." He says as he runs his hands along your curves. 

"Astarion-

"Quiet." He says. "I don't want to hear your protests. They'll fall on deaf ears either way. Just lie back, let me ravage you. Let me remind you why you don't need anyone else." 

A little voice inside of you is screaming, begging you to stop this, to get up and run. But as his lips find yours, that voice is overtaken, drowned in a tidal wave of the feelings you were trying so hard to keep at bay. The flames of a love presumed to be dead roar back to life as his tongue dances around with yours. You loins ache as he presses himself into you. This felt incredible. It felt so right…

You can feel his erection, hard and ready, begging to be released from the confines of his trousers. Gods, how badly you found yourself wanting it, needing it to be inside of you. The thought of his cock deep inside of you stokes the flames of your arousal and you feel that tell tale stickiness start to form between your thighs. You pull him closer to you, wrapping your arms around his neck, entangling your finger in his perfect, silver, curls. 

As the kiss deepens his fingers trail curiously down your thigh until they press up against your entrance. He hums in satisfaction as the tips of his fingers are coated with your wetness. He gently strokes at your folds, teasingly.

"Already so eager for me, darling?" He asks against your lips. He slips a finger in between your folds and you gasp at the sudden sensation. It had been so long since you had been touched in such a way. He continues to kiss you as he slowly begins to pump it in and out of you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you let out soft moans against him, eager for more. 

“Astarion, I need more, gods please!” 

Your desire is soon fulfilled as he adds another finger, setting a slightly faster pace as he finger fucks you. 

"Mmmm, you like that, don't you darling? You haven't been touched like this in a while, have you?” He says as he pulls away from you. Your moans grow louder as you feel the pad of his thumb start to circle the most sensitive part of your cunt. "You couldn't find someone to pleasure you as well as I can, could you?"

"N-no. No one compares to you." You pant. 

"That's right." He says. You watch as he begins to unlace his trousers with his free hand, letting his cock spring out from its painfully tight confines. "No one can fuck you like I can."

As he continues to pleasure you with his fingers you start to see stars. Your core begins to tighten, your pent up pleasure begs to be released from a dam of mixed emotions that’s kept it at bay for so long. But just as your thighs begin to tremble, he stops. 

You let out a displeased whine when he suddenly removes his fingers. 

"Don't worry darling, I'm not going to leave you without." He says, sliding his fingers between your lips so that you could taste yourself. "But first, be a good girl and clean these off for me."

You do as he asks, softly suckling and licking his digits clean of you as he looks down at you intently. "Yes, just like that. Good girl.” He says, stroking your hair as you do so. “

God's, I'll have to have you do this with my cock later, but right now all I want is to be inside of you." He says, pulling his fingers out of your mouth. He grabs you by the hips and pulls you closer to him, lining himself up with your dripping cunt before thrusting his cock deep inside of you. You let out a pained cry as he stretches out your walls for the first time in a long time. But as he continues to carve a path deeper inside of you, that pain quickly fades into pleasure. You let out cries of ecstasy as he fills you, each thrust of his cock earns a loud moan from your lips filling the room with a lecherous sound he'd been longing to hear for years. 

"That’s right Tav, sing for me! No one can fuck you like I can, no one can draw cries of pleasure from you like I can, and no one can love you like I can. Do you hear me? You're mine!" He growls, plunging himself into you harder. 

"F-fuck, Astarion-

"Say it! I want to hear you say that you're mine!"

"I'm yours Astarion!  I'm yours!" You cry. 

You're so close. That ache in your core becomes more and more intense and you begin to see stars once more. The pleasure that's been building up is desperate to be released, gnawing at the bars of its confines. But before you even have the chance to come undone, he grabs your wrist, bringing it up to his mouth. You look up at him confused.

"It may hurt a little, but I'll be as gentle as I can." He says. 

"Astarion, what are you doing?"

He says nothing. Instead he just smiles at you before piercing his fangs into your flesh. 

You hadn’t felt his fangs in so long that the feeling is now foreign to you. The sharp, icy, pain shoots throughout your arm and you can’t help but cry out in pain. Your body tries to fight against him but he holds you in place, drinking your blood while his cock is still inside of you. Your head lolls back and you start to feel light headed as he greedily laps up the delicious crimson liquid pouring from your veins. 

"I....I feel like I'm going to....pass out...Astarion...."

He pulls away from your wrist only to bring the other one to his mouth and you're hit with that same piercing pain again and he drinks from you once more.

"Please Astarion....I'm...."

"Hush darling, you're fine, I promise. Let me finish." 

Your vision starts to fade in and out as he continues to drink. When he pulls away his lips find your neck. "One last bite and you'll be mine. Forever." He whispers. You now realize what he's doing, but you're too weak to fight back. 

In all actuality, you didn’t want to fight back. You wanted this to happen.

It's a strange feeling. Teetering on the very edge between life and death. You were afraid, aroused, euphoric. As his fangs pierce your neck he begins to thrust into you once more and as your life slowly begins to slip away from you, you feel that tightening in your core as the climax you’ve been so desperate to reach finally comes to fruition. 

Your body begins to tremble and you let out one last cry as the flames of pleasure consume you, allowing your release like it were a supernova of pure unbridled bliss. 

 His thrust becomes more erratic and rough as he eventually follows suit. The warm feeling of his spend being released inside of you and the guttural moan that revibrates against the flesh of your neck lets you know that he too has reached his own climax. As he continues to drink from you, your vision goes dark. The last thing you feel is a peaceful stillness. And then, nothing. 

He slowly pulls away from you when he’s finished. He cups your hand for a moment, placing a soft kiss on the top of it. His soon to be dark consort. His vampire bride. 

There’s one last thing to do to complete the ritual. He reaches for his dagger, pricking his finger and letting a droplet of his own blood form at the tip. He gently places it inside of your mouth, letting it sit there until he’s sure the blood has dripped into your mouth. 

He gathers your limp body in his arms and lifts you off the bed, cradling you as he carries you to his bedroom. In a couple of days, you’ll be a completely different person. Forever changed, forever bound to him as his dark consort. His vampire bride. 

As he lays you down on his bed he kisses you one last time before fetching a servant to watch over you and returning to the masquerade, elated that his love had finally returned to him.