#| let him push their limits and embrace the darkness in them |

[umbrx]

He gets his sick kicks from corrupting others.

[misspygmypie]

Meet & Greet... and more? Pt. 7

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Words: 2332 Click here for Part 6

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Max wasn’t just any friend - he was a fellow former racer, gaming buddy and part of Lando’s team at Quadrant. Their history went way back to their childhood karting days and today he was about to meet Lando’s new little family.

Noah’s eyes sparkled with wonder at the sight of the go-karts when they were walking through the track. Lando walked right behind him, holding Y/N’s hand and guiding the little boy gently with the other.

“There he is,” Lando said, spotting Max near the Quadrant camera setup, laughing with some of their other members. Max caught sight of Lando and his grin widened, making his way over with his usual easygoing stride.

“Mate, finally,” Max greeted, pulling Lando into a brotherly embrace, then stepping back to look at Y/N and Noah. “And you must be Y/N and Noah I’ve heard so much about!”

“Nice to finally meet you, Max,” Y/N smiled warmly. “Lando’s told us all about you.”

Max pulled her into a quick hug and then crouched down to Noah’s level, his smile widening. “Hey there buddy, you know, Lando told me you’re really good at video games. Maybe even better than him, right?”

Noah giggled shyly, looking up at Lando for confirmation. Lando chuckled and nodded. “He’s a natural, he can game for hours.”

Max straightened up, turning his attention back to Lando. “Speaking of which, remember the time we were doing that endurance karting race and you insisted on pushing the limits every lap?”

Lando groaned, already knowing where Max was headed. “Oh no, not this story…”

Max smirked, clearly enjoying the chance to embarrass his friend. “So there we were, in this all-night karting race and Lando here was determined to beat my lap times. It was the middle of the night, pitch dark and he somehow managed to miss the pit entry and ended up driving straight into the team’s camping tent!”

Y/N burst out laughing, covering her mouth in surprise, while Noah’s eyes widened with curiosity. “Did you really drive into a tent, Lando?” Noah asked, his voice filled with awe.

Lando sighed dramatically but couldn’t help but laugh along. “Yeah, it wasn’t my finest moment. But in my defense, it was dark and I was just trying to keep up with Max.”

“Always trying to outdo me, even in the most ridiculous ways,” Max laughed, clapping Lando on the back. “And let’s not forget the time you tried to film a stunt for Quadrant, only to slip and end up flat on your back, live in front of thousands of viewers!”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at Lando, who was now blushing slightly. “Oh, so you’ve always been this smooth, huh?”

Lando groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Max, you’re supposed to make me look good in front of Y/N, not tell her about every time I’ve messed up!”

“Come on, that’s what friends are for! Besides, you’ve got to stay humble, right?” Max just grinned, clearly loving every moment of this. 

As they continued to chat, Max kept the stories coming, sharing tales of their karting days, their countless pranks on each other and the early days of Quadrant. With every story Y/N could see how deep their friendship ran and how much they genuinely enjoyed each other’s company.

Noah tugged on Max’s sleeve, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Can we drive go-karts together sometime, Max?”

“Absolutely, buddy,” Max’s face lit up, “we’ll set up a special day just for you. Maybe I’ll even teach you some tricks, just don’t tell Lando!”

The day went on and after the video for Quadrant was all filmed they all ended up at Max’s place for the rest of the day. With every passing minute it became clearer and clearer that Noah and Max were hitting it off. The moment Max crouched down to Noah’s level the two seemed to form an instant bond. The little boy was fascinated by Max’s stories, his jokes and the way he talked to him like they were equals.

Lando watched them, a smile on his face, but there was a twinge of something else - something like jealousy - bubbling inside of him. He was thrilled that Noah and Max were getting along so well but he couldn’t help but feel a bit left out as his best friend and girlfriend's son formed their own little duo.

Y/N noticed the subtle shift in Lando’s mood and gave him a gentle nudge. “You okay?” she asked softly, a knowing look in her eyes.

Lando shrugged, trying to play it off. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just didn’t expect them to hit it off this well.”

“You know Noah adores you, right?” Y/N smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. “He’s just excited to meet someone new who’s as cool as you.”

Lando chuckled, though he still felt a little pang of envy as he watched Max and Noah. The two were now huddled together, Max showing Noah how to use a racing simulator setup. Noah was completely enthralled, his little hands gripping the steering wheel as Max guided him through the basics.

“Look, Lando! I’m driving,” Noah called out, his voice filled with excitement.

Lando forced a smile and walked over, ruffling Noah’s hair. “You’re doing great, buddy,” he said, trying to shake off the feeling of being the third wheel.

Max glanced up at Lando, catching the hint of jealousy in his friend’s eyes. He smirked and teased, “don’t worry, mate. I’m not trying to steal your thunder. I’m just giving Noah a taste of the Fewtrell magic.”

Lando rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Just remember, I’m still his favorite.”

“We’ll see about that,” Max grinned, giving Noah a playful wink.

While Lando couldn’t deny that he was a little jealous he was also happy. Seeing Noah so happy and comfortable meant the world to him and he knew that Max was only adding to that joy.

Later that evening, as the sun began to set, Lando found himself sitting on a bench, watching as Max and Noah played a game of tag in Max’s backyard. Y/N sat beside him, her hand resting on his.

“You know, it’s okay to be a little jealous,” she said gently, reading his thoughts.

Lando sighed, leaning back. “I know. I guess I’m just not used to sharing my best friend - or my family.”

Y/N smiled, squeezing his hand. “But that’s what makes it so special, right? You’re not losing anything, you’re just adding more love, more laughter and more memories.”

“You’re right,” Lando nodded, her words sinking in. “And honestly, seeing Noah this happy… It’s worth it.”

They watched Max chase Noah around and Lando felt the last of his jealousy melt away. In its place was a deep feeling of gratitude - gratitude for the people in his life who made every day brighter and for the moments that reminded him just how lucky he was.

“Lando,” Noah called out, running over to him with Max close behind. “Come play with us!”

Lando grinned, standing up and reaching out to lift Noah into his arms. “Alright, alright. Let’s see if you two can keep up with me!”

Y/N watched the three of them run off with a smile, knowing that they were building something special.

______

It was a sunny Sunday morning at the circuit a few weeks later and after the successful introduction of Y/N and Noah to his best friend Lando wanted to take the next big step: Introduce them to his parents. The moment had been on his mind for weeks and as he led them through the paddock he couldn’t help but feel nervous.

The three of them walked together, Noah in the middle holding each of Y/N and Lando’s hands. He was taking in the buzz of the race weekend and the people rushing around. His tiny hand tightened around his mother’s fingers as they approached the McLaren motorhome where Lando’s parents, Cisca and Adam, were waiting.

“They’re really looking forward to meeting you both,” Lando said, offering a reassuring smile. He had told his parents about Y/N and Noah the day after they had started dating and they had been eager to finally meet the two people who had brought so much joy into his life. Today, five months later, the day was finally here.

As they reached the entrance, Lando spotted his parents just inside, chatting with a few members of the team. Cisca was the first to notice them, her face lighting up as she nudged Adam and made her way over.

“Lando,” she exclaimed, pulling her son into a warm hug. Lando grinned and returned the embrace before turning to Y/N and Noah. “Mum, Dad, this is Y/N and this little guy here is Noah.”

Y/N felt a flutter of nerves as Cisca turned her attention to her but the warmth in the older woman’s eyes immediately put her at ease.

“It’s so lovely to finally meet you, Y/N,” Cisca said, giving her a gentle hug. “Lando has told us so much about you both.”

Adam stepped forward shaking Y/N’s hand before crouching down to the boy. “So you are the famous Noah,” he said with a kind smile. “Are you excited to see the race?”

Noah nodded shyly, his big eyes fixed on the man in front of him. “Yeah,” he said softly before glancing up at Lando. “I want to see Lando win.”

Adam chuckled. “Well, we all do! How about we go find some snacks and get ready to cheer him on?”

Noah’s face brightened at the mention of snacks and he nodded enthusiastically. Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her son warming up to Lando’s parents so quickly.

While they made their way through the motorhome Lando stayed close to Y/N, occasionally glancing over to see how she was doing. She seemed more relaxed now and the sight of her laughing at something Cisca had said made him happy.

Cisca and Adam were instantly charmed by Noah’s curiosity and sweetness and Y/N found herself feeling more and more at ease as the morning went on. She could see where Lando got his kindness and sense of humor from.

Later, after they had all settled into their seats in the family area, Noah found himself a bit restless. The excitement of the day and the overwhelming sights and sounds of the racetrack were a lot for a four-year-old to take in. He fidgeted in his seat, his small hands gripping the edge as his eyes followed the blur of cars speeding by on the track.

Cisca noticed and leaned over with a warm smile. “Would you like to sit with me, Noah?” she asked softly, her voice gentle and inviting. Noah hesitated for a moment, glancing up at his mom. Y/N nodded encouragingly and with that silent approval Noah shuffled over to Cisca. 

“There we go, sweetheart,” Cisca said, lifting him onto her lap. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him securely as he settled against her. The connection between them was immediate, as if he had always been part of the family.

Noah relaxed almost instantly, his earlier nervousness melting away in the comfort of her embrace. He leaned back against her, his tiny body fitting perfectly in her lap, and gazed out at the track with wide eyes. 

Cisca, noticing his gaze was still intent on the cars, pointed to the track. “Do you see Lando? He’s driving really fast! And we’re here to cheer him on, aren't we’?”

Noah nodded vigorously, his small hands gripping the edge of the seat as he leaned forward a little, as if that would help him see Lando’s car better. “Go, Lando, go!” he shouted, his voice ringing out clear and strong above the noise of the cars.

Cisca laughed softly and she gently rocked Noah as they both watched the race. Every time Lando’s car zoomed by Noah would point and cheer, his little voice growing hoarse but full of excitement.

Adam, sitting next to them, couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He exchanged a glance with Y/N, who was watching them obviously relieved. It was clear that seeing Noah so happy and comfortable with Lando’s parents was a huge weight lifted off her shoulders.

The race continued and Cisca and Noah formed a little routine. She would point out different things on the track, explaining them in simple terms that Noah could understand and he would respond with questions. It was as if they had known each other for much longer than just a few hours.

At one point the boy looked up at Cisca, his big, innocent eyes searching hers. “Can we always watch Lando’s races together?” he asked, his voice filled with the kind of sincerity only a child could have.

“Of course we can, Noah,” she replied, kissing the top of his head. “We’re a team now and teams stick together.”

Noah beamed at her answer, turning his attention back to the track with renewed excitement. The race neared its end and Noah remained on Cisca’s lap, nestled comfortably against her. He was still full of energy, his little body practically buzzing and when Lando crossed the finish line the entire family erupted into cheers.

Cisca hugged the boy tightly while Adam reached over to ruffle Noah’s hair affectionately. “Looks like we’ve got a future racer in the family,” he joked, making everyone laugh.

Y/N, watching the exchange, felt a tear slip down her cheek, quickly brushing it away before anyone could notice. She had always hoped that whoever came into her life would accept Noah as their own but to see Lando’s family not only accepting but also embracing her son with open arms was more than she could have ever dreamed of.

_____

A/N: Cisca's surprise visit yesterday was just so fricking cute 😍 so I decided to expand by 2 more chapters, I just love writing this series way too much, so stay tuned for Part 8!

Tag: @barcelonaloverf1life @remmysthings @poppyflower-22 @vickykazuya @hadids-world @ririyulife @deafeningunknowntyrant @lexiecampos @littlegrapejuice @eloriis @yawn-zi @landossainz @taliya8346282844eliviahdgdajs @casuallyeating @jaydensluv @destinyg237 @il0vereadingstuff @lnchicagosreads @alana4610 @hc-dutch

[rowdyluv]

summary: in which quinn and his girlfriend are already late for a nye party but her outfit pushes his limits

word count: 2.8k

warnings: 18+, possessive quinn, dark quinn, smut, derogatory language, “obedience training”reference, “teaching a lesson” reference, cat & mouse reference, basically 18++ MDNI, smut

© property of rowdyluv ; do not copy and re-upload as your own - anywhere. do not place my work inside AI codes, do not translate.

Just as if it was the first time seeing Y/n time all over again, Quinn's heart skipped a beat as he stepped into the bedroom. The soft glow from the vanity lights cast a warm embrace over the room, highlighting Y/n's delicate features as she leaned closer to the mirror, meticulously applying her signature piece of mascara. Not being one for much makeup but insisting she needed her mascara to compete with his eyelashes. The sight of her, in that moment, was like a secret painting only he knew existed. Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief and love, were focused and determined, a stark contrast to the gentle curve of her lips as she pursed them to avoid smudging.

“Honey, were going to be late.” Quinn said softly breaking silence, careful not to startle Y/n and cause a black smudge somewhere on her face.

Without turning, Y/n replied, “I know, but I want to look perfect for you tonight. Besides, it’s New Year’s. We can be fashionably late, right?” Her voice was light and had a slight teasing tone to it.

Quinn couldn’t help but chuckle. She was always so beautiful, so perfect to him. Even in the mornings when her hair is a mess and she still has mornin breath.

“You’re always perfect for me, sweetheart. You dont have to try.” When she stood to face him, he choked on his own breath. The fabric of her dress clung to her like a second skin, accentuating her curves and the length of her legs. The neckline was dangerously low, hinting at the softness of her cleavage, and the hem. Dear heavens, the hem. It barely skimmed the top of her thighs.

Quinn felt a jolt of intense possessiveness run through him. He didn’t want anyone else to see her like this, not when the dress was practically begging for attention.

Screaming ‘rip it off me’

He couldn’t let anyone else see her in this dress.

“Y/n, babe, that dress is... it’s a little too much for the party, don’t you think?” Quinn asked, trying to keep his voice even and not betray the storm of desire and possessiveness brewing inside him.

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with it? I thought it was very New Year’s Eve.”

He strode across the room closer to her, his eyes glued onto hers. “It’s not about the dress. It’s about how much of you everyone else will get to see. How much they will see of what’s mine.” His voice grew deeper, a hint of his usual playfulness replaced with something more primal.

She took in Quinn’s serious expression, the way his eyes darkened, the set of his jaw. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier with unspoken desires. They often danced around their boundaries, playing a seductive game of cat and mouse, but tonight was different. This clearly wasn’t a game anymore.

“I’m yours, Quinn. I…I swear. Only yours. But really it’s just a dress,” she protested, her voice wavering slightly.

He stepped closer, so that their bodies were almost touching. “No.” He grunted. “It’s like you’re offering yourself to everyone on a silver platter and I will not share you with anyone. Not tonight,” he whispered, his breath hot against her cheek. “Not ever.”

With a firm grip, Quinn grabbed Y/n’s waist, pulling her towards him. She gasped as she felt the unmistakable pressure of his erection against her stomach. Her eyes widened, and she looked down, then back up at him, her pupils dilating with a mix of surprise and arousal.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against her neck for a split moment. His hands wonder down to the small of her back, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above her ass, and whispered into her ear, “Tell me you’re going to change, or I’ll have to take it off you myself. Teach you a lesson about being disobedient. Right here, right now, and we’ll be so late everyone will start thinking the worst of their captain.”

Her breath hitched, and she could feel her pulse quicken. The dress suddenly felt too tight, too confining, as Quinn’s words painted a very vivid picture of what could happen if she didn’t. His left hand slid down and squeezed at her ass.

“So? What’s it going to be?” He mumbled in her ear.

Her breath hitched again, and she swallowed hard, the taste of anticipation lingering on her tongue. “I’m not changing,” she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of excitement and defiance. She could feel the heat radiating from him, his body like a furnace standing so close to her.

Quinn's grip tightened around her waist, and his eyes narrowed, the hunger in them growing more intense. “Are you sure about that?” He breathed heavily, his eyes scanning over the dress that was driving him wild with lust.

Y/n nodded quietly. Unable to speak.

Quinn picked her up and tossed her on the bed. “Have you not learned how to obey me yet, sweetheart?”

Her eyes searched his, and she whispered, “I guess I forgot.”

“You forgot?” He laughs. “Or did you just want to be punished?”

Y/n blushes and bites her lip. She doesn’t answer, but her eyes speak volumes, the pupils dilating even more as she anticipates his next move. A thrill of excitement runs through her, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she watches him tower over her, his eyes burning with desire and a hint of dominance. She knows that she’s playing with fire, but she can’t help it. The thrill of pushing his buttons is just too much to resist.

Quinn smirks, the corners of his mouth curling up in a predatory smile. He leans over her, placing his hands on the bed, caging her in. His gaze drops to her chest, and he reaches out, his thumb brushing over the top of her dress, teasingly close to her breasts. "Looks like you're asking for it," he says, his voice thick with lust.

He grabs the hem of her dress and slowly pulls it up, revealing her smooth, luscious thighs. She tries to resist, but her body betrays her, arching slightly to meet his touch. His eyes never leave hers, watching the play of emotions - surprise, arousal, and a hint of wonder - that dance across her features. He can feel the heat emanating from her core, and it fuels him.

"This is what happens when you try to show everyone what's mine," he says gruffly, his voice low and intense. He kisses her deeply, claiming her mouth with a ferocity that leaves her breathless. His hand slides under her dress, cupping her sex, and she gasps into his mouth, her legs parting instinctively to give him better access.

The dress rides up higher, and he breaks the kiss to pull it off completely, tossing it aside with a frustrated growl. Y/n's eyes widen, but she doesn't protest as he stares down at her, his eyes raking over her exposed flesh hungrily. The room spins around her, a whirlwind of desire and trepidation. His hands move to the clasp of her bra, deftly unhooking it and letting the straps fall away, revealing her perfect breasts. He palms them roughly, his thumbs flicking over her nipples until they're pebbled and sensitive. She moans, arching into his touch, her body begging for more.

Quinn's mouth descends on one of her nipples, sucking and biting until she's writhing beneath him. The sensation is exquisite, a sweet agony that sends waves of pleasure crashing through her body. He kisses a trail down her torso, his teeth grazing her skin, leaving a path of goosebumps in his wake. His hands follow, his fingertips tracing the contours of her curves, until he reaches the apex of her thighs. She feels his warm breath on her, and she bucks her hips slightly in a silent request.

“Lie still or I’ll go to the party and you'll stay here until I come home.” Quinn tuts.

Y/n nods obediently, her body quivering with anticipation. He kisses his way around her thighs, his teeth nipping every so often, his lips sucking marks, leaving a trail of fire wherever he goes. He hovers over her aching, wet core and smirks. Her thigh muscles are tensing and untensing in an effort to keep still.

“Does the bad girl want my mouth on her pussy?”

A desperate pleading moan escaped her lips and Quinn didn't need to be told twice.

With a smirk that spoke of his victory, Quinn dipped his head between her legs. He teased her some more by blowing across her already throbbing clit before he took it into his mouth, sucking and licking, sending electric jolts of pleasure through her body. Y/n’s hips bucked involuntarily, and she had to bite her bottom lip to keep from screaming out. Quinn let the movement go. He was already pussy drunk. The sensation was overwhelming, her body responding to his touch as if it had been waiting for it all along. His mouth was a maelstrom of sensation, and she was lost in the storm, her legs trembling around his head.

His tongue swirled around, savouring her sweetness, the taste of her desire, before his teeth gently grazed her clit. Y/n’s body tensed, and she couldn't stop from screaming out. He knew exactly how to play her body like a finely tuned instrument. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she gripped the bed sheets tightly.

Quinn’s hand trailed down to her center, his fingers slipping easily through her slick folds. He teased her opening for a moment, watching her squirm before sliding in two digits deep inside her. She was tight around him, the walls of her pussy clenching as if trying to pull him in deeper. He chuckled darkly, feeling her body’s response to his dominance, her need for him to claim her fully.

While his fingers worked her, his mouth returned to her clit, his tongue flicking over the sensitive nub like a kitten playing with a piece of string. Y/n’s breath hitched, and her eyes rolled back into her head, the sensation exquisite. He could feel her inner walls tightening around his fingers as he pumped them in and out of her, curling them slightly to hit that spot that always had her begging for more.

Her hands found their way into his hair, gripping tightly as she tried to keep herself from bucking against him too roughly. His movements were precise, measured, and the tension in the room was palpable, thick with need and desire.

Quinn felt her body tighten around his fingers, her breaths coming in short, desperate pants. He knew she was close, so close, but he wasn’t ready to let her go over just yet. He withdrew his hand, her cry of protest swallowed by his lips. He kissed her deeply, tasting her desperation, her need for release. His thumb stroked her clit lazily, keeping her on the edge, but never letting her fall over. His other hand made quick work of his belt and pants.

“You're going to come apart on my dick. Not my fingers, not my mouth, nothing but my dick.” He asserts. Kicking off his pants.

Y/n nods, desperation coating her voice, “I’ll be good, I promise. Just fuck me, Quinn. I need you inside me now."

Quinn’s eyes are hooded with desire, his pupils dilated with need. He spits directly onto her glistening pussy, watching as the saliva trickles down her folds. The action is crude, animalistic, and it sends a fresh wave of arousal through her. He doesn’t say a word, just takes the head of his cock and uses it to spread the saliva, teasing her clit and slit with the broad tip. She’s so wet that she’s practically begging for him, and he knows it. The room is filled with the sounds of their ragged breathing, the scent of their desire thick and heady.

He positions himself at her entrance, the head of his cock nudging against her slickness. Y/n’s eyes are locked on his, a silent plea for him to take her, to claim her as his. With one swift movement, he pushes into her, filling her completely, his eyes never leaving hers. Her body stretches to accommodate his size, the sensation of him filling her up making her head drop back in pleasure.

The initial shock of his entry quickly gives way to pure, unbridled ecstasy. Her inner walls clamp down around him, the tightness making him groan. He starts to move, his hips thrusting in a rhythm that's both punishing and tantalizing. She can feel every inch of him, the roughness of his movements sending shockwaves of pleasure through her.

The room is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the wetness of their union, and the occasional moan that escapes her throat. Y/n's nails dig into Quinn's back, leaving little half-moons in his skin, urging him to go deeper, faster. He obliges, his hips pistoning into her, their bodies moving in perfect sync as if they were made for this very moment.

"Who does this pussy belong to, baby?" Quinn grunts, his voice thick with lust as he pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, making her grip his biceps.

“Y..you!”

“Say my name, y/n.”

“You, Quinn! I swear.”

“Say it again, baby. Tell me whose little slut you are in that sexy dress.”

Her eyes widened, and she could feel the blush spreading across her cheeks. Quinn’s words were so raw, so demanding, and she felt herself throb against him.

“Quintin.” She moaned out.

“There it is. That’s my girl.” Quinn grinned. “Now, on your knees, ass up.”

Y/n complied, her breaths coming in short gasps as she positioned herself for him, her heart racing with excitement and a hint of nerves. This was a side of him she hadn’t seen often, and she liked it. Liked it a lot.

Quinn grabbed her hips, aligning himself with her entrance, and with a slow teasing thrust, he pushed into her from behind. The angle was perfect, his cock hitting her G-spot with every stroke, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through her body. She could feel herself getting closer to the edge, her orgasm building like a crescendo.

Y/n’s moans grew impossibly louder, echoing through the room as Quinn’s grip on her hips tightened, his thrusts becoming more powerful. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the air, a symphony of desire that only served to drive them both closer to the brink.

Quinn pulled her up to be flush with his chest, a whole new sensation was unlocked and with the way her walls were tightening around him it was evident to Quinn she enjoyed it. The way he held her face towards him to watch her, how he claimed her, it was as if he did own her, and in that moment, she felt more alive than ever. His strokes grew erratic, his breathing ragged, and she knew he was close.

“Be a good girl for me and touch yourself.” Quinn instructed.

Y/n’s hand obeyed Quinn’s command, moving to her clit and rubbing it in tight, fast circles. The pressure of his cock deep inside her, the friction of his movements, and the feeling of his body against hers was too much. Her orgasm crashed over her like a tsunami wave, her muscles clenching around him as she screamed his name, her entire body shaking with the force of it.

Quinn let go of her and pushed her back in the original position. He pulled out of her, he gave his cock a couple of pumps before he blew his load across her back.

The warmth of his cum on her skin sent shivers down her spine, a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. She could feel it trickling down her back, a sticky reminder of their passionate encounter. Y/n looked over her shoulder at Quinn, her eyes glazed with pleasure, and watched as he stroked himself, his hand slowing after his orgasm. His hand went to her back and smeared his cum enough to write in it as if it was a canvas.

He signed his signature.

“Don't move. I’m grabbing something right quick.”

When the camera flashes Y/n knows he just captured his artwork.

“For me only, but it is a nice reminder I have you at home.” A sheepish smile cracks across his face. “I’ll clean you up now.” He reaches for the blasted dress and doesn’t think twice. He uses it to wipe her off.

“How nice. Makes a perfect cum rag.”

“Truth is Q, I only bought the dress so you could take it off me.”

[alyssalenko]

Breaking Free

Written for the @loveinfaerunexchange. Astarion gets the hug and intimacy he deserves after defeating Cazador… (I wish we'd had the option to hold him when he was crying after killing Cazador so I wrote it myself.) AO3

Astarion sinks to his knees, a pathetic sob escaping his lips as the dagger clatters to the floor, you feel your heart breaking before dropping beside him and enveloping him in your arms, his body sagging in your embrace. He clings to you, sobbing into your shoulder as you rub your hands comfortingly up and down his back and arms. It takes a few moments for him to pull himself together enough to deal with his siblings and the spawn in the cells, but he doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time, your touch his lifeline, his rock. When you make your way back to the Elfsong, instead of heading for your suites with the rest of your party, you guide him to the baths to wash the dirt and blood and ritual off of him. He doesn’t fight you as you divest him of his pants and underwear, having pushed himself far beyond his own limits, but you want to make sure he knows that he isn’t alone and that you aren’t going anywhere. You hold out your hand, Astarion taking it to steady himself and letting you guide him to the tub, your grip sure and secure as he steps into the water, and sits down slowly, red eyes fluttering closed as you ease into the tub behind him, drawing a small, contented sigh from his lips.

“I’m so proud of you.” You whisper as you run your hands through his white hair, fingertips massaging his scalp.

Astarion leans back against you, his head on your shoulder fingers finding yours beneath the water and lacing them together as you press a kiss to his cheek. Neither of you speak but you don’t need to. Your vampyr is quiet, almost contemplative, still trying to wrap his head around everything that happened and process that Cazador is dead—no more looking over his shoulder; he’s finally free and that’s going to take some getting used to. Luckily, you plan to be by his side every step of the way as he figures out what to do with his newfound freedom. He burrows deeper into your embrace, lifting your linked hands out of the water and staring at them, his grip tightening like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. You nudge him with your shoulder and give his hand a gentle squeeze as he gazes at the darkness that has settled outside the small window above the tub.

“I should probably start getting used to the shadows again. Who knows how long I have left in the sun?”

“You did the right thing, stopping the Black Mass.”

“I know.” He huffs. “That doesn’t mean it stings any less. Maybe never seeing the sun again is just the price of freedom.”

You can feel your heart breaking at the despondent tone of his voice; getting tadpoled, while not ideal, had given him so much—autonomy over himself, the ability to stand in the sun, friends, and love, and he wasn’t ready for all that to disappear. If you have your way, it won’t—you’ll find a way for him to bask in the sun when this is all over and The Absolute is defeated; between Sorcerous Sundries and Gale, you have a wealth of knowledge at your fingertips whenever you need it. You fumble for the soap with the hand he doesn’t have clutched to his heart, and run it gently down his torso and his arms building up a sudsy lather. When you finish you ease him back into the water to help him rinse off before the two of you clamber out of the tub together. You wrap him in a fluffy towel, using the fabric to pull him closer so you can kiss the tip of his nose.

“I’ll be with you either way. I hope you know that.”

“I think I do.” Astarion looks you directly in the eyes as he catches your hands in his, tone shifting to teasing as you gently dry the water droplets clinging to his skin. “Assuming we survive, of course. Because a horrible death is always just around the corner with you.” You laugh and he shoots you a small smile, fingers curling around yours as he leads you over to the pile of your clothes, a flicker of vulnerability running across his beautiful face. “There’s…something I’d like to show you, if that’s all right? Something out in the city.”

“Of course.” You nod as you grab your shirt off the pile and pull it over your head, the two of you donning your clothes in companionable silence.

“It isn’t far.”

Astarion grips your hand as soon as you’re both dressed and leads you from the baths, away from the Elfsong and he doesn’t let go as you wind through the darkened streets of Baldur’s Gate to a desolate and out of the way cemetery. The graveyard is appropriately silent—there isn’t a proverbial soul around as he stops in front of a lone headstone covered in ivy that clearly hasn’t been maintained, staring at it for a moment, before he releases your hand and carefully moves the vines. He wipes his hands on his pants and takes a step back so you can read the simple epitaph carved in the stone:

Astarion Ancunín 229 NR—268 NR

And suddenly you realize the importance of this moment, glad he’s finally lowered his walls and is letting you all the way in, trusting you with this piece of himself. His trust isn’t misplaced; you two have been through so much together, and the love you feel for him will never go away—you’ll be by his side as long as he’ll have you and you plan to show him he can rely on you every single day.

“Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there. I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his. Until today.”

You step closer and gently cup his chin in your hand, his piercing red eyes gazing into yours. “You were never his. Whatever he had, he took by force.”

“Maybe, but he did take it. There’s almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock. For nearly two centuries I stalked the streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here, dead and buried. Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.” He shoots you a small, tentative smile and it makes your heart soar, but you want to hear him say it—to use his newfound autonomy and voice what he wants, having never had anyone to hear it before or have it matter.

“And what do you want?”

“You…I want you. You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared. You trusted me when that was an objectively stupid thing to do. I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t. Whatever comes next, I’ve got you.”

Astarion heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Well, I should probably fix this.”

You watch him as he pulls out a dagger and kneels in front of the tombstone, digging the tip into the worn rock and carving out a number—a new date you realize with a burst of affection. He sits back on his heels, his eyes flicking from the headstone to you and you find yourself gazing at the edited writing; a promise of a new life—a new beginning.

Astarion Ancunín 229 NR—268 NR *468 NR—

You hold back for a moment, giving him time as you cast your eyes around and lean over to pick a nearby white flower from the ground, laying it beneath the epitaph on the soil of what was once his grave. Astarion cocks an eyebrow at you, a small smile on his face, as you kneel beside him.

“Cute. I’ve been dead in the ground for long enough, It’s time to try living again.” He turns towards you and takes both of your hands in his, a wistful smile on his face. “With everything that life has to offer.”

“Meaning…?”

“If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded.” He gives you that lopsided smirk you’ve come to expect when he flirts with you as he rubs his thumbs across the back of your hands.

You give his hands a squeeze. “Sounds good to me.”

He drops your hands and rubs his palms nervously on his pants, a shaky breath rattling past his lips. “You know, I didn’t care for you when we first met. But I do now. Being with you is about more than lust or manipulating you into a tactical alliance. I love you. I love this. And I want it all.”

You smile at each other, Astarion reaching out and cupping your face, brushing your cheek with his thumb. He leans forward and presses his mouth against yours in a sweet kiss. He pulls back and cocks his head to one side bracing his hands against your shoulders and giving you a gentle shove. You fall back into the grass, his gaze sweeping over you and you can't miss the hitch of his breath as he takes you in, the look on his face like he wants to devour you and you bite your lip. A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips as he crawls towards you, his leg hooking yours to drape it over his hip and the stretch of your muscles at the action makes you gasp. He nestles himself between your thighs and rocks his hips, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss, his mouth opening against yours, tongues colliding as his hands tangle in your hair. He sighs contentedly as you wrap your arms around him, pressing every inch of your body to his.

And you know that this is how you want to spend eternity…

[russian-spider]

"No helmet. I couldn’t disobey you even if I tried" "You're psychic, Charles. You can convince me to do anything"

I know that the most popular interpretation of Erik saying this to Charles is that he has a telepathy kink (valid), but my read of those scenes is somewhat different (not mutually exclusive tho lol)

as I see it, subtext and innuendos aside, what Erik is so very casually doing here is tempting Charles to use his powers in ways that his moral principles prevent him from doing. Erik is saying: if you really want this, then come and get it. You can use your powers to get it, why don't you do it? He's provoking him, teasing him. You could have me, Charles, you could have the world, if only you stopped limiting yourself, if only you were brave enough to get your hands dirty. Because if he can get Charles to be a bit more morally corrupt, then maybe he would see things his way, you know? He's willing to let Charles mind-control him if that means that Charles will mind-control anyone, because doing so means betraying his ideology and embracing Erik's. If Charles mind-controls him, Erik wins this chess game they're always playing. Of course, in those moments, in those scenes when he says that, Erik knows Charles won't do it, so it's safe enough for him to provoke him, to taunt him with the things he doesn't let himself have (because it would be wrong). He won't make Erik stay or obey him just like he won't mind-control the humans. If they're not willing, what is the point? If he forces them, isn't he just as bad as the people that hates them? Doesn't he become exactly what they fear? But there are other moments, when Charles is desperate enough or angry enough, that he actually does invade Erik's mind, like in the comics or more recently in X-Men '97. He does to Erik what he doesn't want to do to anyone, what he refuses to do to his worst enemies, despite how much he loves him. Because the thing is, Erik brings out the worst in Charles... which sounds terrible, but isn't. It actually brings balance to their relationship, I think. Their dynamic is not just Erik doing bad things and Charles being a saint and forgiving him all the time. Charles has a dark side, a manipulative, controlling side that he represses as best as he can. He's afraid of that part of him, of what he could become. But he can be himself with Erik, he can be flawed. Meanwhile, Erik can be vulnerable with Charles, and he can be hopeful. Charles brings out the best in him. Basically Charles is like I can fix him, while Erik is like I can make him worse. And it works for them! They meet in the middle. They push and pull constantly, but the rope never breaks.

So when Charles asks Erik to stay, to join him, Erik says make me, which means give in, cross the line, you join me.

The implication being that he's quite literally using himself as bait to lure Charles to the dark side... which could mean nothing.

[tarafilmz]

My pretty girl

Older!Matt: Paired with :Innocent!Reader

Warnings: suggestive, Fluff, age gap, sneaking around… enjoy :p

Matt and Y/n have been friends since she could remember, her older brother Nate introduced them to one and other when she was old enough to understand friends.

Ever since then they had been never been able to leave on and others side, minus the 4 year agreement gap. As they got older things changed, looks changed, hormones grew. But the one rule name laid out one day while they were all at dinner together…

“Well now that y/n’s getting older shes off limits alright Matt?”

Ever since then Matt tried his best, but how could he resist.. her beautiful dark brown wide eyes filled with so much curiosity and innocence, Her soft tone and its okay attitude she was a practical walking doll.

She sat on the kitchen counter munching on some fresh strawberries, her legs swinging slightly as light sound of the tv played from the living room. The sound of two people walking down the stairs filled the house, it didnt startle her as she hops off the counter filling up her water bottle.

Matts gaze instantly went to her as he let a small smirk grow on his face, her older brother Nate was yapping about how the Boston hockey team should have won against the dare devils. Matt was to focused on her… as he walks into the kitchen, she was washing her last dishes she made before feeling matts strong hands wrapping around her waist.

She knew who it was, she froze though as her breath hitched. Matt noticed only making his smirk grow wider, he presses his front up to her back putting his head on top of hers.

“Keep doing the dishes honey”

Matt mumbles as the sound of her Nate leaving was heard, making her head perk up matt noticed.

“Hes going to the store for a bit”

He hums his fingers drawing little shapes on her stomach. She nods before continuing the last few dishes Matt clinging onto her, after a few minutes she dries off her hands turning off the water.

Matt groans slightly turning her around, her back was still pressing on the counter but now facing towards matt. He towered over her as he leans down pressing a soft kiss on her fourhead, this wasn’t uncommon…. All the affection when her brother left or late nights he would sneak into her room.

Matts hands slid up gently squeezing her tits making her mouth open slightly, his finger gently groping her skin. She gently pushes his arms back as her looks down at her confused.

“Im- im… not in the mood for anything right now”

Matts eyes softened

“Oh im sorry honey did i make you uncomfortable”

She quickly shook her head wrapping her arms around his upper chest hugging him closely, his arms wrapped around her upper back.

“Lets go watch a movie yeah?”

She hums as he leans down grabbing her upper thighs picking her up effortlessly, he carried her to her bedroom that was the only room downstairs. He gently placed her down on the bed before crawling in with her, she wraps her arms around his arm. His other arm hangs loosely around her. They put on some old rom com before they both fell asleep in eachothers embrace.

A knock was heard im her room making matt jump awake, Y/N still deeply asleep. Matt carefully got our of the bed making her shift with a little groan, it was now dark outside. He opens the door carefully to reveal her Nate whos eyes widen at seeing matt open the door.

“The fuck you doing in her room?!”

His voice raises before matt walks out shutting the door

“I know it looks bad-… she wanted to watch a movie and we both fell asleep”

Nates demeanor calms down before nodding

“Fuck man-… scaring me, lets go chill in my room all right?”

Nate asks as Matt nods with a “duh” look before they both head upstairs. Y/n was left sleeping peacefully now holding onto her pillow still thinking it was Matt….

(AHHH FIRST MATT FIC THINGY!!! Stop this is so cute i adore the whole brothers best friend thing!! Also thank you for all the love on my last Chris post!!! Love you all 💋💋)

[darkenedurge]

𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞. (𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭).

.

CONTENT : Blood Kink | P in V Sex (Fem Durge) | Violence, Violent Language | Durge being a freak, Gortash eating it right up | Pre-Tadpole Durge & Gortash

.

˚ ✧.

“If I didn’t love you so, I’d drown in your blood. It’d be pretty, I bet. I can see it.” She says, as she lays – naked, head upon his chest, pointed nail tracing his chest hair. Disturbing it, coercing it into haphazard patterns. She has a habit of this, accompanying tender, gentle movements with deranged words spoken in her pretty, pretty voice. It had never frightened Gortash. Surprised him perhaps, when she had first enlightened him toward the notion – she was rolling her hips into his, palms cupping his jaw with an uncharacteristic softness, completely unbefitting to her, and the tandem of her hips.

“I wish I could slit your throat, and drive my tongue across the slash. Taste you, in ways I haven’t before.”

A minx, he’d called her, with a shake of his head – a tut, and a huffed chuckle.

“I am no General Thorm, dearest,” Gortash replies, finally, his hand trailing down to her thigh – repositioning her. She whines. “Cut me too deep, and I will not be resurrected.”

Silence, for a moment.

And then, a compromise.

“Let me cut your tongue, slice it.. I want to sup the blood as it spills, as we kiss.”

There was always a breathiness to her voice, a shuddering undertone of unadulterated, unhinged, excitement. Carnal desire, urge. There’s a tremor, in the very tips of her fingers, as she grips the blade – like a vice, furthered well beyond its limits. Gortash pretends to consider, pretends to have his debate – internal, between yes, and no. He pretends, and pretends, before simply sticking out his tongue.

She grins, giggles, raises her blade. Her blade was always close, always near. Within arms length.

She then shifts, onto her knees – resting on her heels, eyes flickering with want. Need.

“Only a little cut,” She specifies, and she’s honest, “I don’t want to ruin you..”

A half-tease. Gortash raises a brow.

True to her word, she makes the slit – immediate in tangling her tongue with his, succumbing to the sickly, sweet taste of iron. Copper, intermingling with the heady aftertaste of wine on his tongue. On hers. They always drank, always fucked. Always talked, always kissed. Bled, burned.

The downfall of one another, the detonation to one another’s ticking time bomb.

“Incredible,” She gasps, breaking them from their saliva stricken embrace – a string of desaturated red still maintaining a shred of connection between them. “You’re incredible.”

Gortash shakes his head, pinning her beneath him in one push – a press of his hand, fingers curling around her crisscrossed wrists, burying her bones in the mattress beneath them. “You are the incredible one, my dearest, dearest pet.”

“I hate it when you call me that.” She lies, spreading her legs – sinfully wet.

He pries her apart, sheathes himself inside of her – the fluttering of her walls greeting his cock, accompanied by her hellish, flaming heat. Her constrictive tightness, mouth falling open with a wiggle and a squirm. “No you don’t,” Gortash replies, with a grunt of effort, as he fucks into her hard. Harsh. Abusive and abrasive.

She moans, upon each thrust, thighs tensing and untensing, only to tense again.

“Bleed me again,” Gortash pants out, gaze dark – voice, low. Despite its strain.

His grip upon her hip, with his free hand, is blissfully bruising. “Kiss me,” She demands, commands, pleads – all at once. “Kiss me, and I will.”

And so kiss her he does. She bites his lip, drawing blood –letting it dribble, down, down his stubbled chin. She drags her tongue, efficiently cleaning up the mess. Her mess.

Gortash finishes, inside of her, not long after. She’d squeezed his throat, their first time together, thumb pressed hard – “You fill me up. Everytime. Don’t waste your seed, lordling. Don’t go claiming anyone else. No, you’ve claimed me now.”

He’d lost count, this was perhaps their third time of the night. Fourth, fifth, even.

Though, she finally seems tired – small, curled in his arms, nestled against him. He knows she doesn’t sleep much. Doesn’t like to, doesn’t want to. She’ll be up again, in the midst of the night – naked, hands buried in some poor unfortunate’s innards. He’ll cling to the smell of her skin, imprinted on the linen sheets.

[theslumberinggod]

The Wanderer's Tagalong, Part 8: His Grand Exception

•~°~•

Touch felt alien---or just downright wrong. Every time anyone brushed against him he stiffened, maybe it was apprehension, maybe it’s because it’s been so long anyone brushed their fingers along him with the intent of being loving and gentle.

If he closed his eyes he could hear the brontide in his mind, of memories so, so long ago, disjointed from the rip-and-tear as a result of choices made at Irminsul. He could maybe once remember loving hands crafting him carefully.

Memories that were less faded and tainted with bitterness and rage, friends and those he called family would keep him close.

Then more clear and vivid, in dark rooms soaked with the saccharine smell of alchemy, heretic magics and choking medicines, all he submitted himself to in the name of a still unattained goal, touch was hated, and abhorred.

Yet, here you were. Someone he willingly opened his arms too, to sink into his embrace. It felt all awkward and wrong, he didn’t know where to put his hands or how hard to squeeze. He didn’t know what to do with the fact that you were warm, arms wrapped tenderly around him and face buried in his shoulder. It felt nice, but he was apprehensive all the same. He wanted to push you off himself, but he also wanted you to stay.

Or---maybe it was that feeling again. A pull, gentle and constant to you. When did he start slowing his pace on the long road when he noticed you looked tired? Or times he added sugar to his tea so he could share, or stopped at inns so you had a bed, or eyed stalls for more art supplies and maybe some new clothes. When did he exaggerate himself to draw a smile off your face, or listen hard to try and decipher words you said in a futile attempt to understand you more?

When did he start holding you close when you woke up in your fits of panic and despair, letting you soak his shirt with your tears until it stuck to his skin?

When did he start caring enough, that every inconvenience you brought, was something he was content with dealing with?

You carefully mended his clothes, and lovingly filled your precious, limited space in your sketchbooks with his image. You talked and talked, to him of all people, you pointed out things you found interesting in the countryside or the city, all things he’s seen before but you seemed enthusiastic to share your wonder and awe with him. You somehow found out what herbs he used for his tea and collected them off the side of the road. You carefully pulled bandages around his wounds, eyes furrowed in concern.

You were just a tagalong. Temporary. Or---you were supposed to be. ‘Tagalong’ for you was holding a different meaning. You soaked the air around you with unbridled optimism and a grit The Wanderer found himself deeply impressed with, that had the uncanny ability to lift his spirits.

You at some point became a friend, then more like a companion. The Wanderer couldn’t imagine himself going anywhere without you now, in fact he was terrified at the thought.

He dreaded returning to Sumeru, back to his studies. Would the halt of travels sever your ties? You could not follow him into the academic halls, where you could not read the language or understand a thing. Would in the end, would you have proved only seeing him as a means to an end?

Would you be the one who felt abandoned? Would you feel more lost than ever, like he had so much of his long, upsetting life? Nahida would care for you, he was sure---but what would he do, when every day and every night for half a year had been spent with you?

The Wanderer shushed the thought as he felt your hand rub his back slowly, in a soothing motion as he jolted at another deafening crack of thunder. From the corner of his eye he could see spiraling lightning strike nearby. It rang in his head. He could deal with the thunder high up in the sky, but this was so close and ringing, reverberating in his chest woke up something so deep inside.

No, no you couldn’t see him that way---a means to an end. He couldn’t just…let you slip away. Nahida might have plans for you when she finds of your existence, maybe you’d even get excited as you so often did and explore all Sumeru had to offer. Either way, he refused to let you go.

Not when he crumbled at the sight of vivid, violet lightning. He hadn’t meant to, he was disgusted with himself, horrified at the ugly, pathetic moment of vulnerability. What had he been this entire time to you, other than a pillar of safety? He was wanted and needed for what he had, the strength so small compared to what it used to be. How would you react watching it fall apart?

The Wanderer hated himself for thinking you’d act anything less than caring.

You had pulled him away from the open sky, under an overhanging cliff. Not quite shielded from the rain and the wind, but just enough. Your hand felt warm in his, and you let go, watching the Wanderer grapple with the slip up---and you opened your arms.

How could he refuse?

The pull, so gentle and constant and overpowering. Who were you, so naively filled with love? How could he refuse. Oh how he hated all things sweet, but you were the grand exception, the opportunity to feel something other than rage and hate and bitterness, and all the things that blackened his soul into a dry, dead crisp.

Pressed into the rock side, you held him close, and reminded him of the horrible pain and the longing of the things lost so many years ago. It was bittersweet, he thinks. He loved it. He loved…

…How foolish this was.

He lowered his head, burying his face in your messily hair, inhaling deeply, wanting to feel all of you. All mortal things are fleeting, and you were no different. But oh, to feel loved, wanted and needed, cared for and thought of, treasured and valued---even if he knew he did not deserve it one bit.

The apprehension of the warmth that you soaked him in was mixing with all the feelings of longing, he still didn’t know what to do, helpless to your gravitational pull, something he wanted to run away from but terrified to let go of.

He could only come to a single conclusion:

You felt like home.

[qwimchii]

𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯 (pt. 1) — 𝘫𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦

𝘱𝘵. 1 𝘱𝘵. 2 𝘱𝘵. 3

𝘫𝘰𝘩𝘯 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰. 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳. 𝘸𝘤 — 4𝘬

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭, 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘺 𝘨𝘶𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥 🙁 (𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘸 𝘤𝘢𝘱 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺), 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘫𝘰𝘩𝘯, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘴, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘱 (𝘪𝘮 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨)

you remember the first time you saw him at the bar. 

he was a regular, shuffling in late at night, silent. and you were always pulled in by your loud colleagues, the swinging door banging on their way in, leaving you trailing behind them as they kicked up dust. on your precious weekend evenings, you longed for the comfort of your small quiet home, but instead you were surrounded by the sour smell of alcohol and grease clinging to the air of the bar. some elementary school teachers your colleagues were, you always grumbled in your head. between the london hustle and bustle, your exhausting nine-to-three day job, the master’s degree program in your evenings, and the late nights you endured on the weekends, you were as tight-wrung as an old worn dish towel.

and the awful night just seemed to stretch on, colleagues pulling you to the bar counter, an old soccer game flickering on the old TV overhead. they threw back drinks, pushing limits and pushing mugs of beer and glasses of brandy and shots of whiskey into your hands. you were young and only a couple years out of college. innocence lingered over you like a cloud, and his eyes hovered on you, as if sensing your discomfort across the room.

you remember the first time you met eyes.

a gentle chill traveled down your spine, and your eyes flitted from the rowdy crowd in front of you to the man sitting near the back of the bar. he watched you with a dark expression, guarded, with a cigar between his lips and he flicked the cog of his lighter. the flame caught in his eyes and you could see the depth of them through the hazy bar air. his eyes never left yours as he took a long drag, slowly twisting a glass of brandy on the table. immediately, you were drawn to him—a moth to flame, a fish to a sparkling lure. you were so young, and he was so tantalizingly beyond what you had experienced—not so loud like your colleagues, not so overwhelming like your students, not so overbearing like every other corner of your life. you were so young, and he was so not.

you remember the next time you were at the bar, the next weekend, this time a bit less reluctant when your colleagues berated you to join them. your eyes swept the bar, heart falling from your throat to your stomach when that man wasn’t there. it pushed you to let go a little too much that night, pushed you to throw back a few drinks too many, as you got lost in a hazy world that held no responsibility and no chaos. the world became blurry, and you embraced it for once, completely disregarding the fact that your colleagues had abandoned you in their drunken stupor, and you were hunched over alone at the counter.

you were so drunk you didn’t notice the stranger slowly sauntering up behind you, pressing close to whisper in your ear.

“hey sweetheart,” the voice drawled, “you need some help getting home?”

you looked up, squinting to try and see who was addressing you. your vision cleared enough for you to recognize that it wasn’t the clear-cut handsome face you were looking for. you waved off the stranger with a hand.

“leave me alone,” you slurred, slumping over. but he was persistent, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“come on, baby, don’t be like that. get up. let me help you.”

he moved to pull you off the chair, and you resisted him with futile efforts, because suddenly the alcohol wouldn’t let you make a strong fist and your body was falling limp from left to right.

“hey!” you shouted, voice glazed with intoxication, pushing him away. fear flickered through you like lightning when the man’s hand reached towards your neck before a new strong arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you back away from the stranger. 

you whined, annoyed at the new presence, hands pushing away their broad chest. but they didn’t budge, strong arms holding you close. the faint scent of musky smoke and rich cedar forests submerged your hazy senses, and you looked up at the stranger, but your eyes just wouldn’t dilate against the fluorescent lights with all the alcohol pumping through your bloodstream.

“hey, darlin’,” the man said, voice so soft and full of affection that it startled you, “who’s this guy?”

you squeezed your eyes shut before reopening them. when your eyes finally snapped into focus, you jumped in his arms.

“it’s you!” you exclaimed with a goofy grin. that man, the one you were searching for, with those dark blue eyes that almost looked black in that dingy bar light, had his firm body pressed to yours. the gentle swell of his warm breath dispersed across the skin of your neck. it sent shivers slithering through you.

his eyes flitted between yours silently, eyebrows just slightly raised in surprise.

“it’s me,” he said in a quiet voice. and you wanted to say that a faint smile tugged at his lips beneath his thick beard, but you couldn’t quite tell because your eyes were going slightly cross-eyed. tired, you collapsed against him.

over his shoulder, you saw a figure stalk away into the back of the bar, the door slamming behind them, but the thought slipped away from your mind like loose sand.

“don’t worry,” his spoke into your ear, gently pulling your arms off of him, “that guy’s long gone. you should go back home….”

his words trailed off when you wrapped your arms around him again, tighter.

and you knew it was dangerous. knew you shouldn’t give yourself up to a stranger just because you liked his eyes, the smell of tobacco on his loose clothes, or the warm firmness of his strong body. you knew it because your head was screaming for you to move, but you wanted nothing more than to say right there in his unmoving arms, because he was as steady as a boulder, and you were pretty sure you were going to float away without him to anchor you.

“ma’am? you all right?” he asked, and you shook your head, feet stumbling a bit as you fell further into him.

“just need… need this…” you drawled, closing your eyes.

he shuffled awkwardly underneath the suffocating embrace, but you couldn’t help it, because his arms were just so strong and warm. and he seemed to understand it too, because he just let you snuggle closer into his shoulder and he wrapped his arms around your shoulder and neck, beard slightly scratching at your cheek. his thumb soothed over the exposed skin of your neck, brushing back your hair, and all the stress melted away. your thoughts turned to mush, stomach flipping, and that tension that never seemed to go away in your brow finally relaxed.

you weren’t sure when the scenery began to shift, when that stranger let you lean on his shoulder as you stumbled through the streets of london, slurring out half-sentences and faulty directions to your apartment. you weren’t sure when you reached the 3rd floor of the apartment complex, then the front door of your apartment, and you felt him fumbling through the pockets of your jacket for a key. it made a string of giggles erupt from your mouth.

“what’re you doing?” you sang, a light laugh on your tongue, weakly gripping his arms that dug through your pockets. you can’t even remember if he responded, because next thing you were being gently pushed backwards into the darkness of your apartment. the door shut behind him and a new tense silence fell over you. it was then that you realized how tall he was. how he towered over you. head tilted back a bit further, you could see the glint of his eyes from the moonlight pouring through the kitchen windows. suddenly, you were very very sober.

“what’re you doing?” you asked again. a new serious tone punctured your words.

“just stay still, love,” he whispered.

his fingertips reached out to make a slow descent down your neck, touch so feather-light you swore you were floating. your eyes swept over his face. he was handsome—gruffly so, with a clenched jawline, a strong brow set over those dark eyes, and a scruffy beard that only chiseled his best features. but the look in his eyes and the softness of his touch was anything but gruff. you let your eyes slide shut at the tenderness of his touch, clutching his big hands as they made their movements down, down, down to your collarbones. 

and you leaned into your tiptoes, searching for that connection in the dark, breath stolen when your upper lip brushed against his, before he firmly planted his hands on your shoulders and pushed you back down to your heels with a heavy sigh.

“you’re drunk,” he observed, your still head spinning.

you pouted. “no i’m not.”

a low laugh rumbled through his chest and it sent shivers racing up your spine.

“you won’t even remember this tomorrow morning, darlin’.”

and he was right. because looking back on it, you couldn’t remember what you had said in response, couldn’t remember when your back hit the bed, couldn’t remember when covers were pulled over you. couldn’t remember the scratch of a prickly hair on your cheek, and soft lips pressing briefly into your temple. but you could remember grabbing his wrist, blinking sleepily in the dark.

“what’s your name?” you had whispered into the night, and you wracked your brain for the recall of a response, clinging to the soft words he whispered back and the way the moonlight cast tantalizing shadows over him, but he was gone like the wind in the night and so were his words.

and you were putting the small pieces, bits, and chunks back into the place like broken shards of glass. a loud groan built in the back of your throat. you hunched over the table in the teacher’s lounge, mashed and messy wisps of hair in your hands. a pounding headache rocked through you like a relentless storm and you squeezed your eyes shut. what the hell were you thinking last night?

it was the question of the day that plagued you in every waking moment, and one of your colleagues seemed to notice. sally slowly gnawed on a granola bar, leaning against the counter of the lounge’s kitchen. she narrowed her eyes, taking in your crumpled form. hannah, another one of your colleagues, regarded you with wide eyes over her shoulder.

“what’s going on, babe?” sally drawled out with caution, a light london accent playing on her tongue.

“nothing,” you hissed, and she reeled, eyebrows raising. hannah and sally exchanged a look which sparked a flicker of annoyance in you.

sally sighed, putting a hand on her hip with a heavy dose of attitude.

“she’s been like this all day, hannah, i don’t know what to do.”

you rubbed at your eyes. you had never liked sally. never have, probably never will. maybe it was the fact that she had abandoned you last night, shit-faced and still just as rude as ever, or the fact that she looked at you like a food critic—something to eat and something to judge. something to walk all over if she really wanted to.

you were being overdramatic, but in the moment you really didn’t care, because you were so hung over that all you could think about was getting the day over and done with and pushing the feeling of warm, strong arms that held you safer than you ever felt before out of your mind.

“are you feeling okay, y/n?” hannah asked in a small voice, and you allowed a small smile to play on your lips. hannah was one of the better ones. she didn’t drink, period, and you envied the way she could weasel her way out of peer pressure. she was soft and shy and the only person you considered a potential friend among your wild peers.

you sighed, running a hand through your hair to smooth it back with a tired smile.

“yeah. i’m just a bit hung over.”

sally narrowed her eyes even further, much to your disbelief. and you knew and hated that look in her eyes. food critic. eating you alive.

“this is about a guy isn’t it?”

“what?” you exclaimed, eyes flitting between sally’s smug smile and hannah’s meek expression. more silence filled the lounge before you said with finality: “no.” 

sally broke out into loud laughter. 

“who is he? is he hot? rich?” she suddenly gasped, pointing a finger at you, “is he really young? is that why you’re keeping this secret?”

“i have no secrets, and there is no guy,” you enunciated, incredulous.

“sally…” hannah said, “i think she’s just tired.”

you nodded along, desperate to escape the conversation, and endlessly annoyed that sally, of course, had seen straight through you. 

“fine. but don’t think you’re off the hook, yeah? i’m watching.” she gestured with two fingers from her eyes to yours as she backed out of the lounge. you refrained from rolling your eyes, waving them off in a lazy manner, as hannah shot you an apologetic look.

god, it was going to be a long day. 

and it was, as you were working through classes with your little 2nd graders. pointing out their mathematical mistakes over their shoulders with a careful tone, lightly shushing them when their ruckus began making your head pulse with pain, and keeping them distracted with art projects, reading books, and science lessons. and like usual, you had to put oliver in time-out because he wouldn’t—couldn’t—stop wrestling with other boys on the reading carpet.

but it was all worth it to see the smiles that lit their faces and to hear their happy laughter as they ran across the playground. or when you would pick dandelions and clovers and weave them into the little brown-haired braids at recess. to see their joy when you walked them to the drop-off area to meet their parents, and your joy in the aftermath, sweet silence filtering into the evening.

as you shuffled through the stacks of homework at your desk, mumbling the list of things you needed to finish under your breath, your thoughts wandered through the headache that weakly pulsed in your head. wandered back to last night, calloused hands on your neck, gravely whispers in your ear, the rich smell of smoke and wood and forest lingering in the air. the feeling of your lips brushing his.

a chill slithered down your spine. and suddenly you were imagining what would’ve happened if you had kissed him last night. would you have stopped? 

no. never. not with him.

he would’ve pressed his lips to yours, slowly at first, expertly, before his tongue slid into your mouth and brushed against yours. and he would taste like cigars and tobacco and everything dark and masculine about him. you’d melt into his touch as he pushed you back against a wall, devouring you.

you shook your head with a light gasp, pushing those thoughts into the recesses of your mind. burying your face in your hands, you grew hot, face hot, face red, as you got flustered. and god, how much older was he than you? ten years? fifteen? the thought sent tremors through you. it was so wrong. but it felt so, so good. for just one moment, you closed your eyes and let yourself indulge.

he would build the pace slow. so incredibly slow, tantalizingly so, till you were an aching, whimpering breathless mess. featherlight touches over your clothed torso, fingertips brushing over the hardened nipples straining against your bra, feeling every dip of your body as he kissed you stupid. his knee would slot between yours, body so warm as he pressed against you. the crux of his thigh brushing back-and-forth against your swollen clit, pulling breathy moans out of you.

 you’d clutch at the wall, desperate.

“please,” you’d whisper, against his lips, and he would growl. silent. always silent, with a dark hooded look in his eyes that stayed on you as you felt his hand descend down to heat between your legs.

god, you couldn’t stand it. you pressed your thighs together underneath the desk.

he’d ghost his fingertips over your clothed entrance, feeling the wetness that had built between your trembling thighs, and then he‘d pull your shorts and panties down in one go. you’d quickly kick them aside, before he’d tug your shirt up over your bra so that it rested on the nook of your cleavage. he would press his lips to the swell of your breasts, kissing down over the pudge of your stomach, to your hips, naval, till he was on his knees. those dark eyes looking up and piercing straight through you. it would make your face flush, and you’d move to cover your face with your hands.

“don’t,” he’d snarl in such a commanding tone that you’d immediately drop your hands. a low, gruff laugh would escape him, and he’d smirk up at you, pressing feathery kisses to the softness of your inner thighs. inching closer to that sweet spot that ached. that place that was making your vision blurry and your heartbeat all jumbled in your chest that rose and fell in stutters.

“good girl.”

like a reward, he’d press his lips to your dripping heat and you’d moan out softly. he’d slowly make out with your pussy, beard gently brushing against you, and it would awaken every nerve ending in your body. twinging with pleasure and trembling with attention at his every movement. for him. only him. you would squirm against him, arching your back, and he’d trap you against the wall with a bruising grip, one splayed firmly against your stomach and the other an iron vice at your hip.

“where do you think you’re goin’, sweetheart?”

your head would fall back against the wall with a thud as he circled his tongue around your puffy clit. your lips would part as sweet gasps were punched out of you. he’d speed up just a bit, teeth brushing over your clit, and you would whine. a strong hand would slide down from your hip to your heat, and without warning, press two fingers in at once. stretching you, stuffing your walls full, and submerging you in a hazy headstate between pleasure and the ache for more. the craving for more.

“look at me,” he’d command, and your eyes would flutter down, looking to where his head was buried between your thighs. a pitched whine would leave your lips at the sight.��

his gaze would be piercing, tongue brushing against you in steady expert movements, nose brushing against your abdomen. his calloused fingers would drag along your soaking plush walls, curling to press against that spongy spot inside you, and your knees would buckle in response. 

he’d move one of your thighs over his broad shoulder with a smirk, and you’d almost collapse onto him, hands scrambling to find purchase in his brown hair.

“mmm, yeah, tha’s it love. that feel good?”

a string of desperate sweet yes’s would fall from your lips and he’d hum into your core, sparking a familiar coil of heat to tighten deep within your stomach.

“please, please i need you,” you would gasp into the darkness of the room, so impossibly close to the edge. 

“shh, shh, it’s okay. cum on my fingers, doll.”

and the words would send you straight into a spiraling oblivion, you entire body tensing, contracting around his fingers, as waves of pure bliss dragged you deep into the numb undertow—

“y/n!” sally snapped, leaning against your classroom doorway. “we’re going out to the pub to grab some dinner and drinks. you know we can’t go without you babes. let’s go.”

you blinked at her for a few moments, emerging from the sinful scenario that had played out in your head. the heat in your face intensified, and weirdly, embarrassment prickled in your cheeks. you felt like you had just got caught red-handed.

you quickly tried to wipe away any lingering heat in your face and began to grab your belongings and shove them into your work bag, without meeting sally's eyes. you were also desperately trying to ignore the wetness between your legs. you really, really needed a good hook-up—or something—before you went insane.

“i know, i know. it’s just that tonight i’m a bit busy and i’m still hungover from yesterday—“

“hannah’s coming.”

you paused, looking up from your desk. “…hannah’s coming?”

a small head of light brown hair popped up from behind sally. unmistakably, it was hannah, with a soft sweet smile that melted your heart a bit.

sally raised her eyebrows slightly with a smug look. 

“yeah. we wanted to know more about that mystery man that’s got you enraptured.”

you rolled your eyes into the back of your head as you made your way out the classroom door, ignoring sally’s snide comments. hannah giggled and she wrapped an arm around yours as the three of you made your way down the hallway. children’s art pieces littered the yellow walls down the pathway, and a splash of afternoon light poured through the windows.

“don’t worry, y/n,” hannah said under her breath, “i’ll protect you tonight.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at the strange situation. a real, raw laugh. the thought of hannah protecting you—a small petite woman, even younger than you, with a gummy smile and halo shimmering above her head—tickled a soft spot in your heart. and in the background, sally rambled away about whatever annoying things she rambled about. it was a strange trio, but you could accept it for the night. just for the night.

you made your way to the bar, and as you joined the rowdy crowd of your fellow young teachers at the counter, a familiar chill traveled through you.

you closed your eyes letting a smile flicker across your face.

you looked over your shoulder, locking eyes with him across the bar. dark blue. he was in the spot he was always in. silent, always silent, as he took a long drag from his cigar. you swear you could smell it across the room: musky smoke, cedar, pine.

a ghost of a smile danced on his lips.

you remembered the first time you saw him at the bar, and you prayed under your breath that this wouldn’t be the last.

author’s note: i’m such a whore for cap :( also i'm thinking of turning this into a multi-part series bc i just love price too much

edit: i'm working on a second chapter to this series now ehehe but just an fyi i will be changing the title to 'hold the sun' (a very very good song by maya hawke i recommend ppl take a listen)

[truths33k3r4]

(Warnings for this chapter are at the bottom of the page to keep from giving away spoilers.)

CHAPTER 9 - Dreams of the Haunted

Raphael watched as Lotus finally stilled in Leo’s arms, her stuttered breaths and sniffles slowly descending into silence. Her panicked words twisted and pulled at his mind, deepening his growing concern for her. Frustration began building in his heart as he watched someone so frail and scared fight a horrific, inner battle.

And all he could do was watch.

It brought him no comfort that he was the one that possibly sparked such awful memories in the frightened girl. How she looked at him… It was as if he was the ghost inhabiting all of her nightmares. As if it were him that caused her to flail out of bed in sporadic jolts, wearing beads of sweat on her trembling brow.

 The familiar, sticky tentacles of guilt quickly slithered around his heart, constricting the limited air in his lungs, and filling his mind with useless reprimands.

You shoulda just left her to Leo.

It’s your fault she’s afraid all the time.

She’s scared of you.

Raph shook his head in an attempt to focus back to the matter at hand.

The “matter” that now laid limp in his oldest brother’s arms, softly sighing and nestling into his plastron. The fiery brother watched in silent adoration as Leo stroked the young girl’s shell, successfully calming her enough to make her fall back to sleep. Raph remembered seeing Leo do the same calming motion when they were kids, using it to settle a frightened youngest brother surrounded by darkness, or steady a stressed nerd with too much homework, or simmer down a heated temper with nowhere to go but out.

Raph had used it once or twice as well. The faint memory passed through his mind like a soft breeze as he remembered Leo’s shuttering body hidden fully in his shell after another nightmare. However awkward that night had begun, Raph still recalled it with a warm endearment, remembering all of his brothers combining forces to bring comfort to their newly titled “leader”. Yeah, it was cramped and full of mushy feelings and tears; Three things Raph himself normally hated more than Math homework, but it was all worth it to be there for Leo. 

It was all worth it to bring comfort to their comforter.

As Lotus let out one final, heavy exhale, Leo skillfully weaved out of her embrace, laying her down gently onto the pillow and carefully draping the blanket over her. She didn’t stir the slightest, seemingly sinking deeper and deeper into the cushion of the mattress and the grounding weight of the blanket. Leo sighed as he looked down at her, his shoulders and body falling as if another weight had landed atop them. Tenderly, he reached out and wiped away the last of her tears speckling her cheeks. 

And he wonders why he was the best pick for Team Medic. Stinkin’ show off.

As Leo pushed himself off the floor with a winced grunt, he patted the dirt and grime off his knees and legs. Raph’s eyes involuntarily widened at the dark patches of dirt littering his oldest brother’s body. Normally the brothers kept their room a bit more tidy than that, but…

…a lot had happened. And some things carried more priority than household chores. 

“Raph, come on!” Leo shout-whispered, knocking the fiery brother’s train of thought clean off its tracks. “She’s asleep. Let’s go.” 

Raph gave a slight nod and followed his brother into the hallway, the two siblings being as silent and swift as wind sweeping across snow.

 They walked side by side in the hall, remaining quiet even after they were far past the brothers’ bedroom. Raph couldn’t help but subtly peer his eyes across to Leo, gauging what was going through the leader’s head. It wasn’t abnormal for the eldest to go silent, far from it in fact. Especially after something big happening, Leo would normally not speak as he contemplated the next best course of action. This had actually formed into a problem when they were younger, with Raph and Don’s impatience being stretched to their limits as they had to just wait for their leader to find a solution without a single conversation being had. That had sparked many unneeded forest fires of fury between the twins and their leader. 

Raph couldn’t help but snicker to himself as he remembered how ticked off Don had gotten, spouting off facts and insults in tandem when he wasn’t kept in the know-how. 

“Raph- What was that?” Leo asked suspiciously as he turned his gaze towards the fiery brother. “... Why… are you laughing??” He asked with a slight tint of incredulous confusion in his tone.

With Leo’s frosty irises now locked onto him, Raph found it a little hard to open his mouth and make words come out. 

“Uh… I was…”

Just speak, it ain’t that hard!!

“...Um…”

Leo’s Mom Glare™ suddenly shot up to a “should I be worried??” expression.

JUST. FRIGGIN. TALK.

Raph forcefully rolled his shoulders to release some of the energy building in his body.

“Heheh I was… rememberin’ how ticked off Don got when you went quiet on our missions. You remember the crazy insults he called you?”

Leo’s interrogative gaze flickered and dissipated as he turned his face to the ceiling and sighed with a smile.

“Ahhh yes…” The eldest huffed as his grin grew in nostalgic amusement. “Dad caught him swearing so many times so he just decided to make up new insults…Ah man, which one had you and me cracking up that one time?”

“Ooof, dude. How could ya pick? There’s too many good ones HA!”

“... Was it “Lint Licker”? Or maybe “Shiitake Mushroom head”, HAHA!!!”

Hearing the past substituted insults ignited a warm, soothing flame to ignite in Raph’s heart, leaving him clutching his stomach with how hard he was now laughing alongside his brother.

“WAIT WAIT- HAHAHEEE- Do you remember the time he called you a “Mother Clucker”?! BROOO I couldn’t even breathe I was laughin’ so hard!!!”

“OH DANG- HAHA!!! I can’t believe I forgot that one!!!” Leo was now clutching at his side too, leaning his shell against the wall of the hallway for support as he cackled and sniffed away tears from his eyes. “Don was so mad his face was as red as your mask!!!”

Now Raph could barely breathe with how hard he was laughing.

“Heee… He just sat there- HAHA- With his arms crossed holdin’ his breath- HAHAHA!!! You were afraid he was gonna pass out!!”

“He almost did!!! You had to catch him!!!” Leo’s voice cracked and broke with the laughter erupting out of his throat. Without meaning to, some of his words shot to an extremely high pitch, only worsening Raph’s guffaws to the point where he collapsed to the floor, splayed out and pressing down onto his torso.

There the two brothers were, one propped against a wall, the other laying flat on the ground, laughing.

Despite all that they had been through.

Here they were.

Laughing.

As their chuckles petered out to sniffs and snickers, Leo pushed himself off the wall and walked up to Raph’s prone body. The eldest reached out his hand with a big, real smile gracing every inch of his face. Raph couldn’t help but return Leo’s kindness with his own grin, gratefully accepting his big brother’s hand and allowing himself to be helped off the floor.

“Come on…” Leo laughed again, gasping for air, “Let’s go check on the Clean Up Crew.”

Raph nodded with a knowing smile as the two continued down to the living room.

“MIKEY!!! DON!!” Raph called out with his hand cupping the side of his face. “WHERE YOU GUYS AT??” 

After being answered with silence, Leo and Raph ventured into the kitchen. Walking past the doorway, the first thing Raph noticed was the “used” trash bin propped near the sink. The second thing he noticed, or rather was SMACKED ACROSS THE FACE WITH, was the pungent smell of lavender fumes filling up the entire room. Both his and Leo’s eyes immediately sprung up with more tears as they began to flap their arms to wave out some of the potent aroma. It didn’t do much, and unfortunately, living in the sewers, there were no windows to open and let out the powerful scent. So they just stood there for a bit, waving their arms, until finally both of them gave up in between hacks and coughs and simply retreated to the couch instead.

Comparatively, hacking and choking on fumes was apparently a much more effective way to beckon for their little brother instead of just casually calling to him. 

“What the shell happened to you guys??” Mikey yelled as he ran through the lair’s entrance into the living room. He was out of breath and wearing far-too-big gloves on his hands.

“Us?? *COUGH COUGH*- What- a-about you?? WHY were you *HACK* up top?!” Leo sputtered indignantly as he turned his head to look at his thirteen year old brother that was apparently alone in the big, scary world that towered above them.

Raph chuckled as he watched Mikey roll his eyes and tsk at the eldest’s obvious concern.

“Leooo I’m fineeee. I literally just took out the trash, CHILL.” Mikey grumbled as he pulled off the oversized gloves from his fingers.

“I will NOT CHILL.” Leo retorted right back, now wearing his patented Mom Glare™ and speaking as if he were Mikey’s parent rather than his oldest sibling, “You, young mutant, are thirteen. You aren’t allowed up top by yourself, you know that.”

“Yeah~ I’m fully aware, Mom-o-nardo. But Don was busy trying to hold in his lunch, so I took care of it.” Mikey sluggishly declared, his words dripping with nonchalance. “You’re welcome~.” He flicked his hands with the dramatic flair of a magician, tossing the gloves onto a nearby side table, effectively making them ‘disappear’ from his person. 

Raph let out a silent “Ooooh~” as he turned to see how Leo would react. And as always, the eldest did not disappoint.

“Do I need to tell Master Splinter of your little solo errand?” Leo asked in a tone that was as cold and sharp as an icicle’s tip. 

The youngest’s face fell immediately as Leo played his highest card:

“I’M GONNA TELL DAD.”

Classic oldest sib move, Raph thought to himself. Game set match.

With an offended pout only a youngest sibling could pull off, Mikey growled and stomped his way into the kitchen.

 He quickly regretted his decision.

Raph and Leo couldn’t help the satisfied grins crawling up their faces as they heard Mikey begin to cough violently, clapping his hands over his snout and hightailing it back into the living room. He unceremoniously crumpled to the floor in a hacking heap.

Raph leaned further into the couch cushions and rested his head over his crossed arms, while he watched his little brother writhe dramatically on the floor. With a quick glance, he saw that Leo was subtly checking if Mikey was actually okay or if he was just being dramatic. He obviously came to the same conclusion Raph did as the two oldest siblings sat back and watched, the smiles on their faces never leaving for a second.

“Yeah… seems Don did one shell of a job “decontaminating” the trash bin, huh lil bro?”

Mikey’s head lifted from the ground long enough for him to spit out, “I BET ASTRONAUTS COULD SMELL THAT.”

Leo shook his head as he rolled his eyes, allowing a faint smile to grow on his face. Raph couldn’t help but ask himself how long it had been since so much laughter and smiles had graced the rooms of his home. 

In order to keep the bright composure he was carrying on his face, he pushed aside that thought and just sat as he watched his brothers just be kids again.

. . .

Images flashed past Raphael’s eyes as his body was forcefully shoved through a long, grey hallway. Echoes of horrified and pained screams blared into his skull. Shadows peeled from the walls and engulfed him, slithering their arms into tight bands around his biceps and ankles. Despite the fear penetrating every cell of his body, his mind remained completely hollow, as if he didn’t carry enough strength to create a simple thought. 

The only voice that could be heard in his mind wasn’t his own.

It promised safety and warmth; an easy way out of this trap. Its gravely whispers poked and scratched inside his head, trying to tangle and pull apart any chords of willpower he had left. He could sense the bristling flame of his determination and spirit continue to flicker into nothing. With each seductive, hushed word, a vital part of his identity was extinguished, replaced with an empty husk of compliance.

He wanted to scream, to run, to fight. He longed to beat the shell out of the siren that continued to whisper and enchant his body to bend to its will. 

His mouth stayed shut. 

His legs remained still.

His hands hung limp at his sides, bristling the tipped edges of his sais.

Now watching as if a spectator in his own body, Raph’s legs began to move. They pressed forward with an unnatural uniformity, pulling him closer to a pair of doors leading into a frighteningly familiar room. Raph watched as a pair of crimson-tipped fingers unlocked the door, beckoning him to continue on his way inside. No matter how much Raph’s spirit bit and snarled and yanked, his body complied with the voice’s wishes.

His form climbed into a cushioned chair surrounded by heavy machinery littering every surface. The haunting shine of scalpels and saws glistened on trays set up near his head. His wrists and ankles were slid into metal cuffs as his body unnaturally relaxed into the reclining chair. Lights began flashing as the machinery around him began to glow in a sickly neon green.

“LET ME GO!!!”

Raph’s spirit froze at the sound of the new voice screeching at the doorway. It was a voice he could never forget; A voice of someone who drove him crazy, and pushed him to always do his best in everything he ever did. A scratchy tone that would sometimes pop into a high-pitched crack, leaving him dying laughing on the floor and dodging random office supplies being hurled at him.

His best friend.

“I SAID LET ME GO!!! WHERE’S MY BROTHER?” Don snarled as he was dragged into the room by two hulking jerks, twisting and yanking at the freckled mutant’s chains. He winced as they threw him into the similar chair positioned beside Raph.

NO!! PLEASE NO!!!

Raph’s pleads and screams never left his body’s lips. He could only watch as his twin was forced down into the chair, the two men not being gentle in the slightest as they tugged Don’s limbs through the cuffs with a loud *CLANG*.

“RAPH!!” Don yelled to the hollow husk of his twin in both concern and relief at the same time,”RAPH WAKE UP!! WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!!!”

The fiery brother couldn’t look away as Don’s face fell when his twin didn’t even acknowledge his existence, nevermind his words.

“...R-Raph?... What did they do to you?!- WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!!!” Don ignited in a furious explosion of raw, protective instincts as masked doctors began filling the room.

Even with Don’s kicking and screaming, clawing and biting, and choice vocabulary that would send his father into a coma, the doctors still swiftly worked around him, preparing the machine that menacingly hovered above the two twins. Nurses began attaching small, metal nodes onto the sides of the brothers’ temples; Don’s on the left, and Raph’s on the right. The freckled brother didn’t stop squirming and fighting for one second, using all his energy to somehow escape his binds. But Raph remained still, his mind fully possessed by the siren that dwelled inside.

With a small *click* the machine began to operate. Raph watched as his twin began to scream, not in protest, but in pain. His body twisted and jolted as if he were being impaled by a lightning bolt. 

NO! 

Raphael’s spirit began to burn. 

NO…

His anger blazed in an uncontrollable pyre.

I… WILL NOT… 

His body’s hand twitched.

..LET…

His placid face began to sneer and snarl.

YOU…

His eyes burst open.

HURT HIM!!!!!

His spirit lunged through its prison, disintegrating the coils of control the siren once possessed. The chords of his identity and soul found their purchase in the core of his mind, planting themselves deeply, and never allowing such intrusion again. With the fury of a lion and the love of a protector he screamed,

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

Electricity sparked and stuttered through him in an instant, coursing through every muscle and fiber. It pulled his limbs taut, causing a deep ache to ignite in his bones. His skull rang with loud static, and his body twitched uncontrollably.

His body.

He fought against his binds, shattering the metal into pieces.

The lights on the machine flashed and popped, spraying the surrounding doctors with shards of glass. The panels of the contraption began to shake, as the device rapidly began to overload. 

The room was swallowed by the following explosion, bathed in an iridescent, blinding white.

Raphael and Donatello gasped simultaneously as they shot up, flinging their blankets off their chests.

Sweat beads trickled down Raph’s face as he shuddered and snatched onto his blanket. His fingers pressed deeply into the fibers, cushioning his nails instead of allowing them to penetrate skin. The thick, warm feel of the fabric pulled him back from fantasy, and planted him firmly in reality.

I’m home…

I’m safe…

I’m okay…

He chanted these words over and over in his mind until a cool, slurring voice broke his concentration.

“Raph?... You a’right, man?” Leo groggily whispered from his place on the spare mattress in the middle of the room. In the darkness the eldest’s frosty irises glowed as they locked onto Raph. 

Before the fiery brother could turn away from his sibling’s concerned gaze, Leo was already pulling away his sheets and blanket, tidily folding them over the edge of his bed, before silently crossing the room to Raph’s bedside.

CRUD CRUD CRUD-

NO- SHOO- GO AWAY- NOT NOW-

Raph immediately turned over, flopping to face the wall of his nook away from Leo.

“-I-I’m fine, Leo. Go back ta bed.” He subtly hissed through his fangs, hoping and praying that he was not about to get a big ol’ talk about feelings from the oldest. 

“Yeahhh, I’m not gonna buy that.” Leo yawned as he sat down on the floor beside Raph’s mattress. “A fighter you are. An actor you’re not. Now what’s going on?”

“I said I’m fine.” Raph curtly mumbled into his blanket.

“Still don’t believe you, try again.” Leo sighed as he rubbed at his eyes.

“I SAID I’M FINE.” Raph finally snapped a little too loudly, twisting his body to face his oldest brother. 

Leo winced at the volume of his brother’s expected outburst, then simply shook his head with an unimpressed frown. But before he could say another word, his expression changed as he noticed something about his fiery brother’s face. His mouth parted minisculely as he reached out his hand. 

Raph’s temper and pride demanded he swat it away, but his curiosity and love for his brother won out against his stubbornness. He remained still as Leo’s hand softly landed on the side of Raphael’s face, rubbing something wet off it.

Oh crap I’m crying.

DANG IT NOW HE’S NEVER GONNA LEAVE…

The concern over Leo’s face softened slightly, as he asked again, in a firmer “I am the oldest but I’m also your leader” tone, 

“What’s going on?”

Once again, Raph was completely trapped. Not by a psycho scientist, or by some evil, government organization, but by his perfectionistic, calm, and deeply concerned oldest brother.

There was no way he was going to get out of this one…

And that's it for this chapter! :) You all have been begging to see more of what happened to Don and Raph at the labs, so I present to you a nightmare~. This chapter was certainly tricky to figure out at first- with so many different scenes compiled together, it was hard to keep a steady flow for my reader, but I'm really happy with how it turned out! :) AAAAnd yes, I did say that I would only draw one panel for each chapter, but I COULDN'T HELP ITTTTTT!!!

Feel free to reblog and share this!

BIG THANK YOU to @poetique823 for helping me and encouraging me through this chapter!

@writer-in-wonder, @allyheart707, @oddartistl3, @risebabyx2, @joyjoygorl, @carrots-bear, @howtotrainyourdragonprince, @jasminegazer, @indieyuugure

If you want to be tagged in the next chapter, please comment down below! :)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

(CW- Nightmares, past medical trauma, being held down, and mind control!!)

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

[e-dubbc11]

HAPPY ALMOST BIRTHDAYYYYYY!!!! 🎉🎉🎉 And just for that, I have a special ask for you 😌

"it's almost over...i'm right here."

+

"say something, just fucking say something"

For this one:

Listen, idk why...but you always bring out the angst in me. Don't worry, I'll try to limit the angst since its your birth month~ 😂

Thank you for the birthday wishes, my darling friend! I know how much you love the angst and I hope I did justice to your ask. Thank you so much for your friendship, your support for my little blog and for reading my fics. You’ll never know how much I appreciate it ♥️♥️♥️😘😘😘

She Is My Life

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Angst, violence, guns, GSW, maybe a couple swear words, tears, smooches

Word Count: 2K-ish

Summary: A night out to dinner with your love turns dark and violent. Billy does his best to protect you from getting hurt and later, wrestles with the fact that he nearly got you killed.

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

It was supposed to be a romantic night out.

It was the first time in a long time Billy hadn’t had to work around the clock, protecting a witness that was set to testify against the mob, and you’ve missed him terribly.

Looking into his dark brown eyes that looked like two wells of black ink and seeing his perfect smile after so long had you wanting nothing more than to melt into his embrace, squeeze him tight, and never ever let him go.

You loved him and no sooner did your wine glasses chime in unison as they gently tapped against each other that you heard the first bullet pop, shattering those glasses and dumping red wine all over the crisp white tablecloth.

Instinctively, you dropped the glass and dove under the table just as Billy yelled at you to get down. You felt like your heart had stopped, your breath was caught in your lungs, and the sounds of those bullets hit you like a slap across the face.

The scent of burning candles wafted through the air as you tried to remember how to breathe while remaining frozen in place, too petrified to move. The noise that echoed in your ears was overwhelming, almost shocking, and very different than being at the range where Billy taught you to shoot. The various pops and booms were expected at the range but not in an Italian restaurant where you were supposed to be enjoying your dinner.

Staying put wasn’t going to help Billy and he needed your help whether he wanted you to help or not. He desperately tried to protect you while trying to get rounds off. He threw himself between you and the hailstorm of bullets before pushing you behind the bar.

With your weapon in hand, you knew you were supposed to aim for center mass, that’s what he taught you to do but you couldn’t risk giving them a chance to aim for your center mass.

Shooting them in the Achilles was the best you could do. Peeking around the corner of the bar, the bullets tore through the back of their ankles, shredding any tendons in their path like Christmas ribbons.

“I TOLD YOU TO STAY BEHIND THAT BAR! DO IT NOW!” Yelled Billy over the gunfire.

The large window you were sitting behind was shattered and broken so you could hear the sirens outside getting closer and closer and fewer bullets being fired off toward you.

But then came the warmth and the throbbing but little pain from the impact of the bullet on the lower side of your stomach.

You knew something was wrong though from the intense heat that burned inside your body.

Over the dying gunfire, you called to him, “Billy! I need help!”

Suddenly, the bullets stopped and the sirens sounded like they were right outside. Your fingers were numb, there wasn’t any feeling in them as you tried to hold onto your handgun.

That’s when Billy took it from you, trying to reassure you it was going to be alright which is when he saw the hole in your abdomen, blood pouring out against your snow white dress shirt.

“It’s almost over…I’m right here. You’re gonna be alright, sweet girl. They’re coming.” He whispered against your forehead.

“It burns, Billy!” You cried out. “It hurts so much!”

The crystal chandeliers swung back and forth like pendulums, restaurant patrons that were caught in the crossfire lie dead on the floor covered in blood and glass, and you could see the flashing red lights coming from the street outside.

Blood stained Billy’s dress shirt, some of it was his from where a bullet grazed his arm but most of it was yours. He clung to you like a shadow, then was forced out of the way to let the paramedics do their job and take care of you on the way to the hospital.

Trying to stay conscious, you heard bits and pieces of conversations between Billy, the police and paramedics.

“Mr. Russo, can we take a look at your arm, please?” A voice said. “Yes, we’re taking her to the hospital…if you’re refusing medical care, you’ll have to drive over there yourself.”

“SHE IS MY LIFE! I’m riding with her! Get out of my way, NOW!” He yelled, pressing the barrel of his gun to the paramedic’s forehead.

Paralyzed with fear, all they could do was nod, and open the door for him so he could ride with you.

With the oxygen mask over your face, you tried to playfully scold him for yelling and threatening the paramedics but every time you tried to laugh, you writhed in pain because that made your stomach hurt…a lot.

Before you closed your eyes, you heard Billy tell you, “I’ll never let you out of my sight, I love you.”

You felt a gentle kiss on your forehead and then passed out.

**********

The distant voices you heard sounded like they were underwater, hard to understand except for certain words and phrases here and there. Some of the voices were unfamiliar saying things like “She needs surgery…internal bleeding…we have to take her now…Mr. Russo, please let us do our job.”

Other people’s voices were very familiar like Frank, Maria, Lisa and Junior. “What happened, Bill?...Will she be ok, Uncle Billy?...Have you slept at all, Billy?”

From what you could make out, Billy only left you to go shower and sleep a little but was never away from you for very long. And anytime he did leave, Frank stayed with you and Billy would put two members of his team outside your door. Frank would talk to you too. “You gotta wake up, kid…We miss you, Bill misses you…he’ll never forgive himself if you don’t wake up.”

But a lot of the time, it was only Billy’s voice in the room even if you could only understand pieces of what he was saying. As time passed, what was first just a bunch of muffled dialogue eventually became clearer, more concise, and the silvery tone to his voice was bringing you back to him. He kept saying things like “Wake up for me, sweet girl…Open your eyes.”

Sometimes he sounded scared and angry. “Say something, just fucking say something…yell at me, tell me I’m the reason you’re in this hospital bed right now…tell me you never wanna see me again, just let me hear your voice, baby…please.”

Very slowly, your eyes opened, and inside the room was dark except for the lights from the machines you were hooked up to. As the moonlight shined in from outside, it highlighted one side of his handsome face.

With one of his hands placed near his temple, you watched him gently inhale and exhale as his chest expanded and then relaxed. Looking him over, you noticed his beard had grown in a little more like he hadn’t trimmed it in a couple of days.

How long have you been asleep?

You tried to speak but no words came out just a little squeak followed by a slight groan because of the burning pain in your stomach.

Billy jerked awake when he heard you. “Oh my god y/n, you’re awake!” He said in a surprised tone, closing his hand over yours, and flicking on the bedside light.

You tried to sit up a little more but he stopped you.

“No, no, no…don’t move, sweet girl.” Said Billy, gently putting a hand on your shoulder and giving you a sip of water.

“Billy?” You finally managed to eke out something coherent.

“Yeah, I’m here baby. It’s ok.” He said, gently stroking your cheek. “You scared me, ya know.”

“I’m sorry.” You replied with a hitch in your voice.

Never breaking eye contact, he sat next to you and explained everything that happened. The mob wanted Billy dead for protecting their star witness that was going to testify against them.

They wanted him to pay but they obviously had no idea what kind of man Billy was. He was a marine, a combat veteran, and a survivor. He didn’t know the definition of giving up, he’d never surrender and he would die trying to protect you.

You knew that.

Billy also said that the bullet wound in your stomach needed to be repaired with surgery to stop the internal bleeding and that you lost a lot of blood and after explaining everything to you, his facial expression changed. It shifted from elation to the feeling of complete and utter guilt. He blamed himself, you could see it in his eyes as his lips curled back from his clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry, beautiful. I am so, so sorry. This is all my fault.” He said, clenching his fist. “I should have protected you better, I didn’t and I’m sorry!”

“Billy, look at me.” You said, calmly stroking his beard with your thumb. “I knew what being in a relationship with you would entail, I didn’t walk away when you told me what kind of work you do and the risks you take every single day. Knowing that I could end up tangled in that web too was terrifying but you were worth it to me.”

“I won’t let you die because of me!” He shouted.

Billy turned and started to walk away, out of your room and out of your life if you couldn’t stop him.

“SHE IS MY LIFE!” You shouted back, your voice cracking and fading as you did. “That’s what you said, right?! If that’s true then you do NOT get to walk out on me, Billy Russo!! If I am your life, then you are mine! I know who you are and I know you would never give up! No matter what, isn’t that right, soldier!!?”

He stopped and grabbed hold of the door frame, still facing away from you, his body was stiff with disappointment and as he hung his head, pieces of his raven colored hair tumbled into his eyes.

“You heard me say that?” Billy choked out.

Tears pricked your eyes as you replied, “Yes baby, I heard you. Even though I couldn’t respond, I heard you talking to me and I won’t let you give up on me like so many have given up on you. I love you, Billy Russo. You are…my life.”

The tears streaming down your face fell hard and fast as Billy turned around to face you. Fighting against the pain in your stomach, you pulled yourself up to a sitting position and his long legs took him right to your bedside to help you get more comfortable. He gently cupped your cheeks, closed his eyes and touched his forehead to yours then softly pressed his lips to yours.

After the gentle kisses came the firm and possessive kisses, delicately biting at your chin and along the side of your neck. But he slowed down when he remembered you were in a hospital bed, nursing a fresh gunshot wound.

“Shit, are you ok? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He asked. “I’m sorry. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

Your lips were trembling as you replied,“I know you don’t, handsome. I know. You’ll only hurt me if you leave me. We can figure this out, you and me.”

You could hear his heart beating rapidly inside his chest as he squeezed you until you could barely breathe. Gently stroking your hair, he stayed silent for what seemed like hours, intensely pondering on what to say next and what to do. His tight grip on your body loosened and he delicately pressed his lips to your forehead before gazing down into your eyes.

“I know what I have to do, sweet girl.” He purred.

Billy gripped the sides of your face, his lips firmly pressed into a straight line with hell burning behind his dark eyes.

Nervously, you asked, “What are you going to do, Billy?”

His lips curled back to reveal clenched teeth and with acid in his tone, he growled one more thing before turning and leaving your room.

“I have to kill them…I have to kill them all.”

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @fakehappy27 @snowkestrel @music-indie-tv @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @fictional-hooman @nutmeg17 @k-marzolf @vaguekayla @rosaleenablack @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @aoi-targaryen @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @rachlovesactors @qu1etwolf

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @ittybxttykxttytxtty @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso @colereads

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[ikinremu]

Bad Day

Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

! Smut Warning !

Tags: Shower Sex, Oral (M receiving) , Degrading, Praise, P in V, Unprotected Sex

Hot water ran down your nude body as you lathered yourself in bubbles, soapy hands gliding over your soaking skin. You'd been in the shower barely five minutes, massaging the suds all over when you felt two familiar hands wrap around your waist, locking over your stomach as a pair of soft, tempting lips pressed against your jaw.

"Hey sweetheart." Sirius murmured into your neck, the sculpting of his naked, toned torso pushing against your back as his arm hugged your frame beneath the steaming shower water.

You leant your head back, peering up at his wet, ebony hair. The contrast of it against his pale skin. "Hey." You smiled.

He seemed... off. It didn't take much to gather he was frustrated. You didn't dare pry, sticking with a simple, "Bad day?"

Sirius nodded, rotating your body so your soft, bare chest pushed up against his own. His dark, silky hair was plastered to his forehead by the water, large hands cupping your cheeks. Fiercely, his mouth dove onto yours, the pair of you stumbling back as his tongue snuck past your lips, moving greedily with yours.

Almost immediately, you found your back pressed up against the cool shower tiles, scorching water raining down on the pair of you. He swept a hand downwards, running it smoothly over your skin, offering your hips a possessive squeeze.

Breaking the heated kiss, you lowered your voice to a mere whisper, "Take it out on me."

Gaze darkening, Sirius trailed his eyes over the sight of your wet, naked body. Your stomach flitted under his watch, and you felt his hard length brush against your thigh.

His mouth tugged into subtle amusement, "You sure, baby?"

"Mhm." You smiled sweetly, unable to be more sure of the fact, "Let me make you feel better."

Not a moment gone by, Sirius snapped, seizing you by your hips, lips enveloping your own in a fierce, sultry embrace.

"On your knees for me." His sharp, balmy breath caressed your skin, and his words ran right down your spine.

Hot water pattered at your back as you swiftly knelt before him, arousal brewing between the squeeze of your thighs.

"That's it.." Sirius praised, transfixed by the sight, the way your eyes honed in on him from below, "Open."

His command fluttered in your abdomen, excitement swarming your mind. Eager to please, you parted your soft lips, his thick cock sliding into your mouth. A low groan escaped him, the warmth of your willing lips engulfing his length. His large, splayed hands slid over your scalp, forming a firm grasp as you began slowly sliding your mouth up and down his cock.

"Just look at that," He grunted, "Such a pretty little slut, hm?"

Steaming water trickled down his torso, further slicking his pale skin. With a gruff sound, Sirius's hips bucked slightly against your mouth, testing for limitations.

His tip hit at the roof of your mouth as you welcomed him deeper, his lenient jolt sliding his length further against your tongue as you clenched your thighs together, arousal fluttering between them.

"Look so fuckin' good with my cock in your mouth, hm?" Sirius crooned, feeling the soft plump of your lips surround his shaft.

Your mouth hummed quietly around the length of him, salty tears brimming your waterlines as he filled your mouth. His pale, slender fingers explored your hair, guiding your movements as you trailed your tongue over his slit, enthralled by the taste.

"That's it." Sirius practically grunted, eyelids flitting a little, "Take it like a good fuckin' whore."

The lasting warmth of his words fizzled in your abdomen, only furthering your arousal, inner-thighs slick with both arousal and hot water, squeezed frantically together in a need for friction. Drool coated your inner lips as the motions of your mouth grew sloppier, drawing louder, breathier sounds from him as his hands remained firmly upon your scalp.

Groaning rather huskily, his hips wavered, cock twitching against your tongue, "Fuck.. such a good cocksucker, hm?'

Suddenly, Sirius slid himself from your throat, dampened shaft grazing its way off your tongue. The wet skin of both large, balmy hands switching to your face, just gently cupping your jaw as he swept the pad of one callous thumb across your lips, swiping the dribble from your mouth.

"C'mere." He huffed as you raised slowly from your kneel on the humid, soaked shower flooring. His greedy hands clutched your waist, pulling your bodies together, your naked chests pushing tenderly against one and other.

"You gonna let me use you?" His low, sharp tone brushed against your neck, a shiver coursing your spine. A desperate, somewhat fierce kiss met the angle of your jaw, the pair of you stumbling together, your back resting comfortably against the tiles, the two of you colliding directly beneath the steaming shower stream.

"Yes.." You whispered back, briefly planting your lips on his.

Craving more, Sirius snaked the agility of one hand down your torso, accompanied by a rather teasing nature as he parted your thigh, baring your desperate cunt to his fingertips.

With a painfully charming gleam, his eyes peered into yours, threads of dripping hair falling in-front of his face as he handled his thick cock within his fist, angling his pre-cum coated tip with your entrance.

Heart pounding dramatically against the wall of your chest, you spread your legs a little wider, granting Sirius the opportunity to bring himself impossibly close.

As your stomach buzzed, your back formed a vast arch, feeling Sirius slide his length between your drenched folds, filling your cunt so flawlessly with the ease of a single motion.

Saying all that was needed, a rather loud moan seeped from your mouth as the hot water pattered down your bodies. Steam swirled through the air as Sirius finally planted his first thrust, accompanied by a low, gruff sound of relief.

"Fuck," He uttered, hips jerking up against yours once more, "Feel so fuckin' good around my cock, sweetheart.."

Large, greedily splayed hands seized your hips, kneading at the soft flesh. Shaky, breathy whimpers flowed from your mouth as his tip hit further, thrusts reaching the depth of your g-spot.

"Fuck.." You heaved, head lolling backward against the wall as your body melted against the sensation of him.

The sharp, pale complexion of Sirius's face met your chest, taking one tender nipple into his mouth, working his tongue at the spot for only a few seconds before realising it with a little 'pop'.

He trailed the plump of his lips over your neck, suckling almost harshly at the skin - applying force of which you had no doubt would leave a mark.

"That's it, take my fucking cock.." Sirius encouraged, tossing the plastered strands of hair from his face, sweeping his hands across the undersides of your thighs, "Give me those legs, baby."

Upon that, you swung your legs round his pelvis, allowing him to drive deeper in your pussy, squeezing mercilessly with each jerk of his hips.

Hands spread over your behind, Sirius clutched on with an overwhelming sense of yearning as he tugged you against his cock, groaning as your sopping walls clenched around him.

"My fuckin' slut, aren't you?" He uttered, offering the plump of your ass a light slap, fuelled by the feeling of your body in his hands.

The lustful words flipped in your stomach, drawing yet another moan from the channel of your throat, "Yes.. Shit.."

Your bare, soaked bodies rocked together beneath the belting shower stream, jolting with a pattern only falling messier by the second.

A fog of breath stroked your jaw, "Just take it." He spoke, "Let me use you."

His shaft twitched as it slipped in and out, the tight heat of your cunt wrapping his length, driving the pair of you equally wild.

Unable to stand being vacant any longer, your hands tangled through Sirius’s dark, silky hair, making a path down to grip at his toned back in search of support. Wet skin slapping together, his fingers switched upon the swell of your clit, circling the increased sensitivity as your teeth punctured your bottom lip - bombarded by sensations as a familiar knot bound itself tightly in your stomach.

“I’m so close..” You exhaled, breath crackling in your throat, the euphoria of a release building in your stomach as the pace quickened.

"Yeah?" He smirked, "You gonna cum on my cock?"

Nodding with an increase of yearning, you revelled in the feeling of his thrusts growing sloppier as he joined you in the quickening promise of a release.

“You can do it, come on.” Sirius praised, working his digits faster on your clit, the sensitivity pulsing with each stroke. A rather messy, throatier moan poured from his mouth as he planted another light slap to your ass, a little harsher than the previous, “Use that fuckin’ pussy. Make me cum.”

Naturally, the fuel of his lustful words ran through your body. The wound tension in your stomach snapped so suddenly, much-anticipated release completely washing over you. As the dripping walls of your pussy spasmed with your orgasm, Sirius lost all composure, sliding out of you with a blend of both relief and disapproval, groaning as his hot, pale release coated your thighs.

Face broken by his typical, charmingly bright grin, Sirius gently leant his forehead against yours, feeling the shower-stream cleanse your skin, letting your - soon to be sore - legs drop from his hips, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to use the requests/asks feature on my page - it’d be so greatly appreciated!

[therealcocoshady]

Kinktober - Day 23 - Cockwarming

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

A/N : so, my first attempt at doing Kinktober taught me that one of the pros of using someone else’s prompts is that you don’t have to come up with them by yourself. Sadly, it has also taught me that one the con of using someone else’s prompts is that… well, you end up having to write things you’ve never tried before 🤣. Anyway, this is my attempt at writing something « cockwarming ». Shoutout to people on Reddit who shared their experience on various posts. Really couldn’t have done it without them 😅. Oh, and this is Dom!Marshall x Sub!Reader !

CW : Smut? - Cockwarming - Anxiety

It had been a couple of months since Marshall had agreed to show you more of what being a submissive entailed. He was a great teacher, willing to answer any question, offering detailed explanations, putting the emphasis on consent and safety. Obviously, this brought a shift to your friendship dynamic. You weren’t just buddies anymore. There was something deeper there, something based on trust and intimacy. Both of you had access to parts that each other kept hidden. In the past few weeks, Marshall had gotten to know your body like the back of his hand, as well as your mind. He was able to anticipate your needs, knew exactly when he could push you further or when it was time to hold back. And, in spite of the rigid structure inherent to the weekends you spent at his place, that the untrained eye would identity as some distance between the two of you, he had become some sort of safe place for you. Not only as a close friend but also as your Sir.

You’d had a really rough week at work. Not only was your boss even more of an asshole that usual, but you had been assigned to some big project that had you stressed out. The anxiety was paralyzing and the tension followed you home, too. Even out of the office, that thing remained on your mind. And for the first time, you weren’t sure you’d be able to last a whole weekend with Marshall. You had texted him a few days earlier, letting him know how you were doing (as part of your agreement). You had been pretty straightforward and expected him to cancel, but he seemed pretty adamant on having you come over as usual. And when you showed up, as soon as he opened the door, he took notice of how disheveled you look. Big dark circles, eyes glistening with exhaustion and a drawn out stance. It didn’t take a genius to tell you were a mess. You looked down, bowing your head as he had taught you, waiting for him to invite you in.

Contrary to what was usual, he pulled you into a warm embrace, one that reminded you of the ones you’d shared as friends who showed up for each other during hard times. You leaned into it, closing your eyes, though you had a hard time letting go of all the tension. He seemed to notice it and gave you a reassuring smile before kissing your forehead. « I know you had a rough week, » he said in a tone that with both firm and gentle at the same time. « You don’t have to worry about anything now. You’re here with me and I’m in charge ».

His tone did not leave room for argument or doubt. You nodded, anxiously hoping that he wouldn’t go too hard on you. He had never given you any reason to doubt the fact that he’d make your comfort and wellbeing a priority, but you were the one you didn’t trust. You weren’t even sure what your own limits were. Everything in your mind was blurry, noisy and messy. You took a deep breath and entered the house. And as was now usual, you put down your bags and knelt in the foyer, waiting for him to properly greet you and give you your instructions. He stood before you, his hand gently patting the top of your head. « Good girl. Welcome home. » he praised in that low voice of his. « You may go to your room and get ready. Your checklist is on the bed », he instructed.

You nodded and did as you were told. It was the same start every weekend : you’d kneel, he’d greet you and you’d go to make yourself at home in the guest bedroom next to his. Then, you’d take a shower, put on the clothes he instructed you to wear and read the checklist he had prepared in advance. Most of the time, it was the same thing : you were in charge of making dinner for the both of you, as well as doing some reading on submission. Some other tasks included helping him sort out his cassette collection or library. On occasion, if he had a specific event coming up, he tasked you with outfit recommendations. This time, however, the checklist was pretty brief : «Put on comfy clothes - No chores - Rest - Obey».

When you walked back downstairs, you found him on the couch, scrolling on his phone. He glanced and your direction and gave you a nod, signaling he was happy with your outfit choice. He gestured for you to have a sit and you noticed that a cozy blanket and a cup of herbal tea were waiting for you. « Figured you’d need this. Take a moment and have some tea. I’ll be right there. » he instructed. You settled onto the couch, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and cradled the mug into your hands, the warmth seeping onto your skin. You took a sip, the comforting taste calming your nerves, and let out a small sigh. Normally, simply being in the house would be enough for your mind to go quiet but not this time. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on your surroundings, the comfy couch, the familiar smell… but you kept on replaying moments of the past week. Your boss yelling at you. Your colleague pressuring you about the deadline. Instinctively, your hands clenched around the mug. You felt Marshall’s hand in your back, rubbing comforting circles. None of you spoke for a while, before Marshall cleared his throat, signaling for you to look at him.

« This weekend, I want you to let go and rest, understood? », he said, his gaze meeting yours with quiet intensity. « You’ve been pushing yourself and now, I’m going to take care of you », he added. Your eyes softened at his words and, though you found yourself nodding, you were met with a surge of anxiety. You didn’t want to be a burden. And you didn’t want him to think you’d given up on your progression as a sub either. « Thank you, Sir. But you don’t need to-», you began. He silently raised an eyebrow, making you shut up instantly.

« Who am I to you right now ? » he calmly asked. « You’re my dom, Sir », you replied softly, looking down. « Which means you are…? » he asked again. « Your sub, Sir », you replied. « That’s right. You’re my sub. Mine. And I take care of what’s mine. » he said firmly, in a tone that didn’t leave room for you to second-think. You nodded and he cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your skin. You finished your tea and he led you to the movie room where he put on a movie, in an attempt to distract you. He was sitting on the couch while you were at his feet, sinking into the soft carpet, your head resting gently against his leg. One of his hands was in your hair and his presence grounded you.

You enjoyed the movie, but it still wasn’t enough to put your mind to rest. Contrary to your habits, you were fidgeting, nervously biting your lip, the skin around your nails. Marshall kept on swatting your hand but you couldn’t stop, much to his exasperation. « Stop doing that », he scolded. « Sorry, Sir. Can’t really help it. », you apologetically replied, to which he rolled his eyes. « It’s stressing me out. And you’re going to hurt yourself.» he continued. « Sorry », you mumbled, without really stopping. He firmly grabbed your wrist and watched you intently. « Y/N » he said sternly. « It’s an oral fix- » you began, though he cut you off with a loud sigh. « Do you need me to help you with that ? »

You looked at him, trying to scan his face to make sure what he was implying. Your eyes traveled to his crotch, then back to his eyes. You were about to make a comment about him just needing to tell you to get on your knees if he wanted you to satisfy him when he clarified it. « Not asking for a blowjob » he said. You looked at him, slightly confused. « So, uh, what is it, Sir? » you asked with a raised eyebrow. « Just you, keeping it in your mouth. Ever heard of cockwarming? ». You nodded. You’d vaguely heard of it but you had never found it too appealing. In your opinion, it kind of lacked the fun of an actual blowjob and you didn’t quite see the point. « Some people like it. They say it’s soothing,» he continued. « We can give it a try if you want. It’ll be less disgusting than… you biting your nails or whatever ». You nodded after a couple seconds of consideration. Worst comes to worst, you’d find it disgusting and wouldn’t try it again. Plus, if there was anyone you trusted with this, it was him. And in the best case, it might actually work. « Words, doll » he ordered. « When it comes to anything like that, I’d rather have you verbally consent », he added. « I consent to trying it, sir », you said with a slight smile, finding it quite endearing, the way he always made it feel safe. He nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. « So, uh… I just… put it in my mouth and not move? » you asked. He chuckled and shrugged a bit. «That’s the idea. You can gently suck and lick if you feel like it, too» he nodded. « But is that going to be… enjoyable? » you asked again with a raised eyebrow. « For me? Yeah. It’s agreeable. Pretty intimate, too. Might be enjoyable for you too. Apparently, it does a great job satisfying oral fixations. You’ll tell me. If you don’t like it, we stop. And you know the safe words and moves anyway, don’t you ? » he said with a smile and you nodded.

He moved a bit on the couch, before lowering his pants and boxers, letting his cock spring free. It was in a semi-soft state in which, not to toot your own horn, you weren’t use to seeing it often. You almost found it unsettling, not seeing it fully erect. He gestured for you to come and you settled between his legs, comfortably curling up and wrapping your mouth around his dick. You looked at him for a few seconds, as if to make sure you were doing it right. He gave you a small nod and a reassuring smile, before running a hand in your hair. « Good girl », he praised softly. « Now, try and relax, ok? ».

Much to your surprise, you didn’t find it as weird as you thought you would. Sure enough, you’d never had a cock that wasn’t fully hard in your mouth, nor were you used to not doing anything to it once it was in. But it wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as you expected. And it wasn’t disgusting either. In fact, he was right : it did do a good job at satisfying the oral fixation. As someone who had always been sort of « orally centered », there was something relaxing to holding him in your mouth. Soon enough, you let your mind wander, shifting your focus from work to your dom, who gently stroked your hair and neck. You instinctively suckled, not exactly on purpose, but you could hear Marshall humming lightly. You stayed like that for a while, enjoying the contact and intimacy of it, while the TV show played in the background. «All good, doll? », Marshall asked after a while. You let out a soft hum, your mind kind of elsewhere. He let out a soft chuckle and a « Good girl » escaped his lips. His fingers found the back of your head, stroking in soothing motions. You found yourself in some kind of meditative space, halfway between relaxation and submission. Finally. What you enjoyed the most. The point where the noise in your head went quiet and nothing outside really mattered.

You’d had enough conversations with Marshall to know what sub space was but you had never experienced it. In the back of your mind, you wondered if, perhaps, that was it. You were feeling both vulnerable and connected to your dom, your body feeling as if it were « floaty ». You were not exactly sure where you were, or how long you stayed like this and, frankly, you didn’t care. You felt serene, as if you were exactly where you belonged. Marshall’s fingers traced your scalp, your forehead, your cheek, grounding you, reminding you of his presence and him being in charge.

You could feel him twitch slightly in your mouth, hardening and softening at times. You went with the flow, instinctively shifting your position. At some point, however, it became too challenging for you to hold him in your mouth, to even breathe. It kind of took you out of your zone and you took it out of your mouth as you came to your senses. You looked at Marshall, who was seemingly zoned out. He gazed at you with a smile, his eyes full of silent praises. «All good, sweetheart ? » he asked in a low voice. You nodded, smiling at the sweet pet name. « All good. Thank you, Sir » you replied quietly. He cupped your face and let his thumb stroke your cheek. «There it is. That smile. Missed it. » he teasingly commented, making you blush. « So? I take it that you didn’t hate it? » he asked with a grin. « I didn’t » you agreed. « It was nice ».

« I’m glad » he hummed. « Wanna keep going? ». You lowered your gaze, noticing he was still fully hard. « Don’t think I’ll be able to hold it, Sir. Not like… this » you softly commented. He looked down and let out a chuckle. «Ah. Sorry. Side effect. » he replied with an unapologetic smirk before putting his boxers and pants back in place. « Means you’re a good girl », he added with a wink. You felt a familiar warmth through your body and for a second you wondered if he was aware of the effect his praises had on you. You let out an involuntary giggle before blushing and looking down apologetically. « Didn’t think you’d find me so funny » he said with a raised eyebrow. You shook your head, indicating it wasn’t that. He crossed his arms and stared at you. « Why don’t you share, then ? » he suggested with a smirk. « Before I punish you for laughing in my face », he added in a low voice. You looked at him and blushed slightly before tentatively explaining. « I, uh… I was wondering if it was an acronym, sir », you awkwardly replied, failing to hide a goofy smile. « An acronym? » he repeated, clearly not getting the pun. « Because it stands for me », you mumbled, trying not to let out the goofiest snort. He stared at you intently, sternly for a few seconds, before breaking character and face palming himself, letting out a loud chortle. « Oh Jesus Christ, Y/N » he sighed with a laugh. « Sorry » you giggled before looking down. He pulled you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

You exchanged goofy smiles, both of you enjoying the moments when your friendship bled into the dynamic. «If the bad jokes and lyric references are back, I think it means you’re feeling better » he chuckled. You nodded and gave him a sincere smile. « I do. Thank you Sir. You’re a good dom. And a great friend. » you said with a heartfelt gratitude. He chortled and nodded. « I mean, it’s nothing special. Friendly cockwarming. It’s a thing. » he deadpanned. You couldn’t resist playing into it. «Makes sense. I might remember that next time work brings me down and ask my office buddy for a friendly favor » you playfully replied. The humor in your voice was unmistakable but it didn’t prevent him from squinting and his eyes from going darker. « oh yeah? Anything you want to share, doll ? » he asked sternly.

You gave him a smile and shook your head. You were well aware of the rules : the whole dynamic was basically a friends with benefit arrangement and, if you wanted to date or be involved with someone else, you were free to, but it would mean his domination would become strictly platonic. « There’s no one else, Sir. » you hummed. «I’m all yours », you added in a whisper, though you knew he could clearly hear it. « Good. I like the sound of that. You’re my good girl » he praised in a low voice, his face inching closer to yours. « I like being yours, sir » you added under your breath. You saw a smirk form on his face and, without adding anything, he pulled you to him and his lips crashed into yours, sending jolts of electricity through your whole body. You thoroughly enjoyed him having such a primal reaction. And it was quite rare, too. Most of the time, your dynamic didn’t involved a lot of flirting and teasing. Kissing, too, was quite rare. That being said, you found it quite exhilarating.

His kiss was possessive, not leaving room for doubt. His hands moved to your waist, his hold on you feeling fierce and raw. Though you were used to letting him be in control, this time, you couldn’t resist responding eagerly. Your body melted into his, your lips soft and insistent against his. Marshall’s hand slid up to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss, a quiet growl escaping his throat as he claimed you fully. It was empowering and intoxicating, noticing the way he reacted to your submission. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy him being territorial. As your mouths parted, in order to allow for some much-needed breathing, you slightly pulled back, realizing that, regardless of how enjoyable it was, you might be overstepping. « Sorry, sir », you whispered before lowering your gaze. He shook his head and cupped your cheek before capturing your lips in another kiss, this one slower and deeper that had you surrendering, melting against him. The kiss deepened, your bodies pressed close as you lost yourselves in each other. You already knew he was rock hard, obviously, and you could feel it through the fabric of his clothes. You were slowly grinding against each other, as you let him take the lead and instinctively followed his movements. « What can I do for you, Sir ? » you asked as you bit your lip. Your desire had you feeling as if you were burning from the inside, and you were dying to have him telling you to get on your knees and get to work. He smiled and placed a tender kiss on your lips before shaking his head. « You’re not doing anything for me, this weekend. I’m taking care of you, remember ? » he reminded you. « What do you have in mind, Sir ? » you asked. « At least a couple of orgasms, and maybe some more friendly cockwarming. There’s more holes for us to try », he replied with a promising smile.

[fangsandfracturedhearts]

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 10: Soulbound

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.9k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

Your fingers twitch and knead against satiny textiles as wakefulness begins to return you to existence. A lightheaded daze shrouds your vision as your eyes crack open. The canopy of your four-poster bed suspends above you. The drapery is embroidered beautifully with stars, constellations, moons in all phases, and soaring dragons, all revolving around the central sun. In this dream-like state, the depictions seem to move, playing out their destinies against the indigo astral sea as shadows gambol over the extravagant fabric. It would be enchanting if it were not making your head spin uncomfortably.

As you squeeze your eyes shut, your fingers clench and twist the fabric beneath you, and a feeble whine sighs from your lips. Your tongue feels numb and lazy, sagging in your mouth uselessly, and your body feels as fuzzy and impotent as your blurred vision.

“You are awake.”

Astarion’s voice grates at the inception of your consciousness, and you recoil as much as your bloodless body will allow. You still feel his hand around your neck, squeezing tight, halting the pleas in your throat as his fangs sawed at your neck, ripping and tearing the soft flesh. You tumble off the edge of the bed in your panic, and his hands break your fall.

He’s touching you. Hells, he’s touching you, and you want, nay need, him to fucking stop lest you suffocate.

“Don’t touch me,” you sob with a croak, flinging your hands up to protect yourself from further harm, palms heating as your magic surges. “Please. Gods. Don’t touch me.”

Astarion’s hands jerk away, and you shudder while trying to breathe. The stabbing pain in your throat is intolerable, fresh tears springing to your eyes, and your fingers tentatively prod the tender flesh. You don’t need a mirror to know that your skin is revoltingly bruised, a hemorrhaging mural composed by his wrath, and you whimper at the contact of your fingertips. The muscles in your arms and legs still feel like gelatin. They wobble weakly as you push yourself into a corner, hugging your knees to your chest.

“Darling-” Astarion’s hands are poised near you as if he might be able to stop the inevitable crumbling if only he could find the right place to brace it.

“Leave me alone.” You choke out grimly, swallowing the pain caused by your gruff inflection.

“It’s me,” he says, small and shaky.

You need time to think, to regain your composure, and you cannot do it with his eyes on you, his voice repeating your name like a prayer and his hands trying to find where your pieces are weakest so he can give them strength.

“Get out!” You wail despite the barbaric sting that causes more tears to rain out of your eyes. “Get the fuck out!”

“I… Yes, of course. As you wish.” Astarion stutters hesitantly as if he’s not sure if he will heed your commands. The door hinges creak as he closes it behind him, “I’m sorry,” he breathes with a sigh. “Truly.”

Like an ancient ruin that can no longer persevere against the ravages of time, you let yourself collapse and crumble.

The overbearing walls of the Crimson Palace wash over him in waves as he roams through them in a stupor. His fingertips drag across the chilled panels as he tries to orient himself. It feels like he’s waking from a nethermost trance, and his alertness has not fully recovered.

He dives for the desk when he enters the study. It’s full of papers and ledgers in neat piles, and he grabs at parchment chaotically, sending it scattering, sheets fluttering to the ground around him. His eyes scan the documents as he shuffles through them quickly. All in his hand, signature, name, but he does not recall any of this. He tosses sheet after sheet to the side until he finds one with a date.

Eight months.

Eight months of nonexistence. Of something walking around wearing his skin, using his name, speaking in his voice, imitating him.

Where the fuck has he been all this time?

He slams his hands on the desk. It cracks and caves in, regurgitating its contents to the floor. He frowns, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Her voice still reverberates, an echo in his mind, as she said goodbye in a hauntingly melodic timbre.

Why did she leave him?

Dashing through the halls, the floor mocks him in creeks and groans for his heavy steps. He pushes all the doors open as he progresses further into the palace until he finds what must be his room. Opening the wardrobes and dressers, he tosses his clothing haphazardly to the floor, detached from his typical compulsion for fastidiousness.

Nothing. Not a single article of clothing and none of her possessions are here. Why?

His heart pounds as he jogs through the palace until he catches her scent at the top of the dark staircase leading down into a murky darkness – the old spawn quarters.

No. This cannot be, surely. He wouldn’t. Right?

He bounds down the stairs, 2 or 3 steps at a time, until he comes to a slightly ajar door in the hallway with a lock that he does not recall being there. The pads of his shaky fingers stroke the cool metal, and he swallows the lump balling in his throat.

This has to be a nightmare. This cannot be real.

The door whines when he pushes it and peers into the room. It smells strongly of Jasmine, Honeysuckle and Vanilla - it smells like her. Astarion staggers in and throws open the simple wardrobes and chests, breaking the doors off some of them in his haste.

She left everything, which can only mean one thing - she fled.

What has he done?  

“Lord Ancunin?”

Good Gods, he’s come to loathe that singsong voice like nails on a chalkboard, and the back of his throat tickles as it hauls him away from his reflections.

“Elowyn,” he sneers spitefully, crinkling his nose in disgust. “How many times must we have this discussion? If this disobedience persists, I may have to reconsider our little agreement. I have no need for a spawn that cannot follow simple orders.”

The lie rolls off his tongue, smooth and modulated with the hint of a threat. Elowyn wishes to be given the gift of eternal life, and she’s idiotic and vain enough to believe he would ever grant her such a thing, but it is a simple enough falsity to keep her happy and submissive.

“I beg your forgiveness, Master.” Elowyn whimpers, dropping to her knees with her hands clasped in her lap, “It won’t happen again.”

“Good girl. Be sure it doesn’t, or you will force me to teach you another lesson.” He drawls unenthusiastically while staring at his nails. Threatening her brings him no pleasure. He finds it all a rather tedious business. “Now, I did not come here to chitchat. Araj, tell me what you have discovered.”

Araj glares at him with her arms crossed. The Drow has much more spirit and is more arduous to keep in line than her counterpart.

“Hungry, Lord?” Araj quips and leans her head to the side with an egregious grin. “You are considerably ill-tempered today. There’s always a neck here available for the biting if you were so inclined.”

“You can offer all you wish,” he snaps, rolling his eyes. “The answer will be no until the end of time. You disgust me.”

“Such harsh words for an old friend.” Araj pouts sarcastically before launching into the excuses he’s already heard. “Your blood is not easy to work with. It’s volatile and eats through everything like caustic acid.”

“You brought me here to tell me of more failure?” He snarls, baring his teeth. He considers killing them both. Their tests have gotten him nothing and no closer to understanding what’s wrong with him, but there is at least one more answer he seeks before he can do away with them. “And the sun immunity?”

“It’s hard to say,” Araj shrugs. “Why the sudden interest in the sun resistance? I thought we were here to see what your blood may be capable of, not to waste our time trying to bottle useless effects. Why would you need a potion to make you invulnerable? You are already immune.”

“What yourself, Araj,” he growls threateningly, his brows knitting together in a fierce scowl that casts shadows over his eyes. “You are under my employ. I get to decide what’s useful to me and what isn’t. You will do as instructed.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Araj smirks. “If this is about that lovely spawn of yours, it may be prudent to allow us access to her blood.”

He’s out of his chair before Araj can blink, slamming her against the wall with one dagger to her throat and the other pressed harshly to her abdomen.

“If you touch her, I will liberate your vile innards from your body. Then, I will hunt down your family, lovers, and friends, turn them into my obedient meat puppets and let them rot away in my dungeon for eternity. She is off-limits. You are to go nowhere near her. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Araj swallows hard, her eyes wide with fear. “Perhaps you might consider an alternative? Turn Elowyn, and we can use her blood for testing instead.”

Throwing his head back, he laughs loudly, making both women jump, “You do not give the hound a bone until it has won the race. Find another way.”

He releases Araj, sheathing his daggers, and stalks away.

Araj’s voice stops him, “Elowyn tells me you’re refusing to give her more samples. We cannot run further tests without it.”

“No.” She would not want him to do this, and he has failed her enough for one day, “You will get no more samples from me until you have done as I ask. The next time you request an audience with me, you better have results, Araj, or there will be consequences.”

“Is that a threat?” Araj spits harshly.

“My dear,” he drawls nonchalantly. With a subtle movement, a dagger hurtles through the air and embeds into the wall so close to Araj’s neck that the shiny steel pets her skin. He looms over Araj, forcing her to arch her back while he hauls the dagger from the wall, “It’s a fucking promise.”

There’s an odd beauty to darkness, an inky void that obscures your surroundings and allows you to delude yourself into believing the elixir of lies you pour into your soul. In it, you can pretend, if only for a moment, that you are not a prisoner of your past and your sins are rendered null as they circle like vultures smothered by the shadows.

So, you lay in the jet-black abyss. Even as your bones begin to rue the rigid floor, and your eyes can shed no more tears, you lay unmoving.

Astarion sits beside you on the floor with his back pressed flat against the wall. He hasn’t uttered so much as a syllable since he settled there hours ago. When you look into his eyes, you see mayhem, starlight and darkness, treading the edge between diabolical and divine. He is a devil cloaked in the skin of an angel with blood dripping from his eyes, but Gods, you’ll ignite the world and walk across the hot coals of its remains if it means preserving the light in him.

You’re a warrior. When life threatens you with a battle, you will awaken every monster, every dragon, every demon that slumbers within you and answer with bloodshed.

You’ve wallowed in your self-pity long enough. A war awaits, and you intend to win it or die trying.

Crawling into his lap, Astarion wraps his arms around you. One of his hands comes to the back of your head, and his cheek presses tightly to yours as you slip your arms around his neck.

And Gods, it feels like heaven to be held in the arms of hell.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes next to your ear while he sweeps your hair away from your neck. His fingers shake as they brood over the bruised skin and gnarled, coin-sized holes that his fangs left. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”

You press your hand against his, flat palm to palm. His hand dwarfs yours, “It’s okay.”

Astarion scoffs while his fingers interlock with yours, “It is most certainly not okay. I very nearly drained you dry, and who in the Hells knows what I would have done with you afterward!” His voice is unsteady, labouring beneath misery, “I will take you back to Shadowheart and Gale come morning. We can continue your lessons until you can feed yourself. Once that is accomplished, our business will be concluded, and you will never have to see me again. Freedom, as much as I am willing to grant you, is yours.”

Your eyes distend, and your brows pull down. Astarion is granting you the freedom you want. You should be happy, ecstatic even. So, why does it fill you with dread?

“Is that what you want?” You choke out, faint and tuneless, and pray to any God that hasn’t turned their back on you that his answer is not yes. “You want me to leave?”

“No, little love,” he finally answers in an eerily, delicate baritone after too many agonizing minutes of silent contemplation. “I am selfish as I always have been, perhaps even more since the Rite. Of course, I do not wish you to go, but you are not safe with me. I cannot control it. I have lost days before - days of not knowing where I had gone or what I had done.” He chuckles sarcastically, dismal and sullen, “We get what we deserve in the end, I suppose.”

Perhaps we do.

“I’m not going,” you state matter-of-factly. “Do you trust me, Astarion?”

Astarion gently draws you back to look into your eyes, sorrow dulling his expression with his lips firm in a tight line, “You may be the only person in the entirety of the cosmos that I trust implicitly.”

“Then trust that when the spark in your eyes is snuffed out, I can be your glow,” you vow, chillingly formidable. “My soul is forged in fire, and I will burn brighter than your demons and choke the darkness. I will do whatever it takes. I will always bring you home.”

“Don’t be a martyr. Do you have no sense of self-preservation?” he admonishes you with a shake of his head. “Why are you doing this?”

“Good Gods, you can be obtuse sometimes,” you roll your eyes at him. “You can stop posturing this charade of ignorance any time. I know you heard what I said to Gale.”

Astarion’s eyes drift to your hand, embraced with his, and his thumb skims up and down yours, “What if I am incapable of loving you back?”

Can’t or won’t? 

“I don’t expect you to,” you strive to keep your voice steady and casual even as your heart fractures and implodes in your chest. “Love given with the requisite of reciprocation is not love. I give it to you freely, as it always was, as it always will be. May I speak plainly?”

Astarion arches a brow, “Go on.”

“I don’t think you’re incapable of love, Astarion. I believe you’re scared of it.”

“Love is a sickness of the heart.” Astarion takes a deep breath, his voice grave. “It will hail itself your saviour but be your downfall.”

“Then...” you shrug, “down I go.”

Astarion loving you is a fantasy you’ve long relinquished. A pathetic hope that would asphyxiate you in pools of failed attempts. But wrapped in his arms, staring into scarlet eyes dusted with an ethereal radiance, a murmur begins to bite at your thoughts, quickly becoming a roar, filling your ears.

There’s that feeling again. That connection of invisible threads bridging the gap between you and the presence lingering in the back of your head that you cannot touch. It tugs at the borders of your mind with a request. No, an invitation. For the first time since it made its home in your consciousness when you reach out, it does not shy away, and you embrace it.

There’s an ear-splitting rush and a feeling of sinking. Your body jerks, trying to right itself, but Astarion holds you firmly, pulling you tighter.

“Let yourself sink,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Trust me just a little further.”

You stop fighting the feeling and plummet. Suddenly, you’re not just you any longer. You are you, and you are him simultaneously. One being in two bodies. You can feel the comfortable pressure of your body against him, and his heart beats behind your ribs.

Another abrupt drop. It makes your stomach flutter, and you’re in the bowels of a stygian doom. You feel the corruption you heard in his mind as if it were in yours, infecting your thoughts with sadistic rants and relentless chittering. You can almost taste the rancid colloquy on your tongue, and you fight the urge to retch.

A hunger longing to escape, thundering against the bars of its prison. It hums enticing promises in an absorbing, almost angelic inflection that compels you to release it, and you’re horrified to find yourself tempted.

You’re dragged away, a feeling of hurtling through time and space, not entirely unlike portal travel. His voice echoes in your mind, bellowing in your head, begging you to peer into his darkness, dance with his demons, and love him anyway.

I do, you answer, you are safe with me.

Your eyelashes flutter as you come back. You no longer hear the voices mumbling or feel that malevolent spectre with its seraphic affirmations, but you can still feel him in a way you’ve never felt before.

“I- I don’t understand,” you breathe, trying to reestablish yourself with your body, thoughts and feelings, “What was that?”

“I have always been with you.” Astarion gently taps your temple, “In here. You cannot tell me you have not felt me. I know you have because I always feel you.”

You can’t help the awe transforming your face as you continue feeling his desires, wants, and fears flowing through you as you flow through him, two stars colliding and recollecting unified.

“I thought that was just how you could compel me.”

“Well... it is,” he nods, “but there is much more to it than that.”

“Did you have this with...” You cut yourself off when you realize what you’re about to blurt out, biting your tongue so hard you draw blood.

Astarion smirks, “You know it works both ways, right?” You hear his voice in your head and only realize that it’s not him speaking when you comprehend his mouth isn’t moving, “Just because you don’t say it doesn’t mean I don’t hear it.”

Fuck. Are none of my thoughts private any longer? Did I throw open the door for the devil? 

“The devil, hm? A little harsh, don’t you think?” Astarion giggles. He must see the terror in your eyes, or Hells, does he feel it? Either way, he squeezes your hand. “Say what you were going to say,” Astarion instructs. “You might as well just say it.”

“I didn’t mean that you’re the devil!” You yelp and swallow hard, “Did you have this with Cazador?”

You wince as the name strolls off your tongue. You were never to utter that name in Astarion’s presence, and whenever you did, you paid for your carelessness. You impulsively cower, thrusting your eyes shut, magic rising in a sharp upswing.

“Easy, darling. I’m not going to hurt you. I would make a very dashing devil.” Astarion coos while rubbing your arm, “Yes and no. I felt something similar; that ubiquity rooted in my mind gave him the power to control me, but the link concluded there. This… bond, if you will, is unique to you and me.”

“Why did it not feel like this before? I can feel you, Astarion. I can feel your heart beating as if it were in my chest.” You push your palm against his shirt and let it heat slightly, and your skin starts to heat in concert, “I can feel this as if I were doing it to myself. I feel your desires, wants, and fears. Good Gods, I feel everything.”

It’s gloriously overwhelming, akin to a pleasure so intense that it borders on pain. Your nerves and synapses are overloaded as they attempt to make sense of all this information circuiting.

“I had to open the door, so to speak.” Astarion kisses your heated palm with a wolfish grin. “Tell me. What do I want, little love?”

I want you, it arises in your mind, drifting on the current between you.

“Me.” You stutter, feeling like all the breath has been sucked out of your lungs. You stare at him wide-eyed, “You want... me?”

“Until the world falls down,” he purrs tenderly with a genuine smile. “Do not worry. You are able to close and open the connection, same as I. I need not be in your head all the time. Your dirty thoughts are private if you wish, but I do hope you share.”

“Can you force the connection open?”

“Yes,” he retorts blatantly, “but I have not crossed that line, and I do not plan to, and before you ask, no, you cannot force it open. You can, however, request it simply by reaching out. Wherever I am, I will feel it.”

You rest your hand where your heart used to beat. Hells, it feels like it is beating again, but you’re feeling his. You thought you missed this sensation, but right now, you’re finding it a harsh cramp in your chest.

“Astarion, this… this is incredible.” Tears well in your eyes. He’s letting you in, and the significance of this gesture is staggering, “Thank you.”

“It is quite something, isn’t it?” Astarion takes his lips in yours, and you can feel his eagerness, his rampant desire and his enjoyment. When your tongues meet, tasting each other, you’re blown away by pleasure, yours and his mixed.

“Oh my, this will make for some very depraved carnal fun. I could read your body before, but now I can feel it. Hmm, the possibilities are titillating.” Astarion grins devilishly, “But that will have to wait. You are weak and must rest. I could find you some food if you wish. It will help you recover quicker, but it will not be of the four-legged variety.”

“Unless it’s your purple-haired hussy, I’m not interested.” You smirk. “I will make an exception on my dietary restrictions for her.”

“Oh, still positively green with envy, I see. I can feel your hatred. It’s delectable,” Astarion giggles. “My pretty consort, I do not like to see doubt cast upon your face. I told you I’ve never taken her to my bed. You need not be invidious.”

“Will you take me to your bed? I- I,” you stumble embarrassingly over your tongue. It feels cumbersome in your mouth, “I would like to rest with you tonight.”

You feel a rush of delight mixed with astoundment. Perhaps what’s more flabbergasting is that he simply lets you feel it, not attempting to camouflage or muzzle it.

“You do?” Astarion’s brows rise and curve upward, “I mean,” he clears his throat. “Of course. I can deny you nothing. You need not ask permission. You’re more than welcome to rest with me any night.”

“Well, in that case,” you smirk foxlike, “which wardrobe is mine then?”

The question only further increases the exhilaration you’re feeling ebbing from him. It’s so potent, a high so gratifying that you could get addicted to pleasing him - a dangerous notion.

“I suppose I will have to acquire you one.” Astarion chuckles and kisses your forehead, “Can you walk, or shall I carry you to bed?”

You scoff and do your best, but your muscles are still depleted of the sustenance required to function, and you wobble even with Astarion stabilizing you.

“Carry you, it is, clumsy thing.” He laughs lightheartedly while taking you into his arms. “Come, my love. Let’s go to our bed, hm?”

“Our bed,” you muse, kissing his cheek. “I do like the sound of that.”

“Me too,” he says, suddenly frighteningly serious, “Very much.”

The mattress dips as Astarion gets into bed. You’ve never really realized how enormous this damn bed is. Even with both of you lying in it, there’s so much space that it makes him feel far away, and you mourn the physicality.

A grin splits across his face, and he raises his arm, inviting you in, “I can feel that - you know, your desire to be close. No, it’s more than that. Isn’t it?” You can feel him scan the emotion, deciphering it, “It feels like a need. I suppose I should not be surprised. You never could get enough of me.”

“Astarion.” Pushing yourself close to him, you rest your head on his arm. The pads of your fingers rub the silken skin of his chest. Rest is starting to beckon you toward your trance. “What does this mean for us?”

“It can mean as little or as much as you wish it to,” his fingers meander the valley up your spine. “Nothing has to change between us, or we can… try for something more.”

As the dreamscape unfolds behind the closed lids of your eyes, your sensibility fading, you whisper, “Do you love me, Astarion?”

Emotional pandemonium tosses like waves on a rough sea. Alarm. Resentment. Dread. That proverbial portal slams closed frantically with so much force that it peppers your vision behind your eyelids white, and you lurch upward with your hand to your forehead with a howl.

It feels like a guillotine to your soul, slicing it in two. You are hollow. Your chest is still, the borrowed beat from Astarion’s heart dying. The slipstream of emotions no longer flows and combines as one enchanted ballad.

You are alone, completely incomplete, and you have never felt more dead than this moment.

“I’m sorry,” Astarion rubs your back and kisses your shoulder softly. “I did not expect it to pain you. I’m still learning. I will take heed of my haste from now on. That’s enough rooting around in my head for one day. Rest now.”

The pain ebbs, and your thoughts reform, piecing themselves back together. You lay down without a word because you’re unsure of what you can say in your state of confusion. The feelings, none of them love or even affection, but you’ve been feeling his veneration all night.

What the Hells does it all mean?

The sun-warmed stones of the courtyard thaw the icy chill of your skin as you lay under the radiant rays. The sky is full of fluffy, white clouds like unsheared sheep grazing across a cerulean plain. You thought this might make you feel as alive as when the bond between you and Astarion was open, but instead, it’s another reminder you’re a walking, talking corpse.

A feather-light breeze flutters your hair around your face and carries the smell of food, well, people but food to you, reminding you of your hunger. Those cramps in your stomach have returned, and the unquenchable thirst is parching your throat, making your tongue feel like an arid desert.

Firey orbs rotate above, and you twist them into constellations, which you often do when your mind is unsettled. Astarion said you could try for more; it sounds like fantasies made reality until you remember that he’d said he wasn’t sure he could love you. In that case, what does more even mean to him? Do you take the risk and put your heart on the table?

Everything is getting so fucking messy.

How can you tell what is genuine with him? Gale wasn’t wrong when he said Astarion knows how to manipulate you. He hardly needs to compel you because he knows what buttons to push and pull, the words to say, to get what he wants. He always has. All roads always lead back to him. Is it your heart that gravitates to Astarion, or is it something far more sinister? Are you just ingrained to be drawn to your creator? How can you know your feelings versus just an innate reflex that was planted and has taken root in your consciousness?

“What’s troubling you?” Astarion lays down beside you with an arch brow and his crimson eyes vivid in the sunlight.

“Everything,” you sigh, “Just everything.”

Astarion rolls to his side and puts his hand on your arm. He looks bothered by your answer with one brow pulled slightly down with his head cocked, “Is it something I did? You can tell me.”

“No.” The orbs start to absorb each other until there are only two remaining. You make them violently clash and burst like a firework, “You didn’t do anything. Where did you go this morning? You weren’t here when I woke up.”

“I would like to take you somewhere today.” Astarion sits and takes your hand, kissing the palm and all your fingertips, “Will you come?”

Sitting, you pull your knees to your chest, “You want to go out during the day?”

“Yes, during the day.” He purrs in a soothing baritone. “You’re safe from the sun with me. You need not hide in the manor all the time.”

“It’s not the sun, Astarion.” A lie. It’s always a little bit about the sun. That phobia is alive and well. You’re starting to wonder if it’s less of a phobia and more of some weird vampiric instinct. “It’s all the people. I’m hungry, and my control is dreadful. I can’t be trusted around them. I’m not sure how you did it.”

“Centuries of practice, love. You do quite well for a young spawn. Cazador kept us in the kennels until we could control the hunger. I was in there for many years, I think.” Astarion cocks his head, drawing his brows down as if he didn’t mean to divulge that information but continues. “You have my word; I will not put you into a situation you cannot handle.”

“Okay,” you say hesitantly, “I’ll go.”

“Splendid,” Astarion stands and hauls you up with him, “You can ride a horse, yes?”

Your brows pop up, rounding your eyes, “Me? Of course. Do you? Last I checked, you hated those beasts.”

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” Astarion rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue, “I am more than capable of riding the beasts. I don’t have to like them."

“This is going to be so much fun,” you giggle. “I truly cannot wait to see this. The Vampire Ascendant on a horse. Miracles never cease!”

“Cheeky pup,” he smirks and bumps your shoulder.

It’s been a while since you’ve been in the saddle, but you settle quickly. With your feet in the stirrups and hands on the reins, the dapple-grey mare canters with a rhythmic stride. Astarion’s steed, a large jet-black gelding, keeps pace effortlessly. It’s hard to keep your eyes off Astarion. In the saddle, he attracts attention with a cut debonair form, his shoulders back, hips rolling smoothly to match his gelding’s long strides, and his hair flowing handsomely in the wind.

He catches you admiring him with your mouth dropped open and smirks with a chuckle, nodding in the direction to follow and eases his gelding into a gallop. The two horses soar over the plains outside Baldur's Gate with booming hoofbeats, manes streaming in the wind, and tails held high.

There is something so unbelievably picturesque about this moment, so familiar yet unsettling. You spent so much time travelling with Astarion across areas like this. You, him and dirt roads from dawn to dusk, but this isn’t the same man from your memories - is it? It’s getting increasingly more challenging to be mindful that Astarion may look and act, well sometimes act, like the same person you knew, but he isn’t.

He no longer becomes shy when you ask him for a kiss; gone are the awkward hugs, the way he used to mutter to himself to test what he was about to say, and the way his eyes would dart away when he said something sweet.

Now, he’s prone to blacked-out fits of violent, deadly rage and can let you burn in the sun at any moment should he choose, force himself into your mind, and take away your agency with a thought. He can turn himself into a bat, mist, and who knows what else. He said he felt his powers growing, and you have a feeling you haven’t seen the full extent of what he can do.

How many people has he killed in his blackouts? How many people has he compelled? Has he compelled you? You have yet to see other spawn, but who knows what he’s hiding.

Yet, you love him all the same - even with his demons, darkness and madness.

In these moments, when things start to feel too much like old times, you can’t help but mourn the man he was – a man you still miss.

I wonder what he would have thought of himself turning me into his spawn? 

Astarion reins his horse to a trot and guides the gelding into a dense thicket with a barely perceptible path. He twists in the saddle, “This way. It’s not far.”

The trees, smelling pleasantly of pine, are towering with thick trunks. A chorus of birdsongs flows like a river softly floating through the air. It’s easy to forget how beautiful nature can be. When was the last time you were out like this during the day?

After several minutes, the thick trees start to thin and give way to a pristine clearing with thick green grass carpeting the ground and a lake. The crystalline water looks as blue as the sky reflecting on its mirror-smooth surface.

“Here we are,” Astarion dismounts his horse. His feet land on the ground in silence; not even the snap of a twig can be heard or the crunch of his boots on the earth.

Your eyes scan the area with reverence. The colours are bright and vivid, as though painted and composed from an artist's rendering of a fairy tale. It’s been some time since you’ve seen anything of such beauty during the day. If you had breath to take away, this would surely confiscate it from your lungs. You pat the mare’s muscled neck, haul yourself up and hop off the saddle much less gracefully than Astarion.

Astarion’s hand comes to the small of your back, “This way. Come.”

He takes your hand and leads you toward thick blankets, pillows, chilled wine, flowers, and candles in a stunning presentation.

“Astarion,” you gasp, below a whisper as you take in the scene, “Did you do this?”

“Yes.” Astarion slips behind you and puts his arms around your waist, hugging you close to his chest, “I thought you might want to get out of the manor for a day.”

You lean into him, “This is beautiful. Thank you.”

“I told you I can be romantic,” he quips with a boyish smile. His cardinal red eyes are set ablaze by the sun glinting off them, “You did not believe I was capable. Before you say it because I can see it on your pretty face, yes, little love, true feelings - they were a requirement, if I recall correctly.”

Do I ruin this moment by asking about what feelings?

I must know.

“What feelings, Astarion?”

Astarion kisses your temple and coos, “My feelings for you, of course. You said you were hungry earlier. I will go find you some food.”

He’s trying to retreat from the conversation.

“No, I’m fine,” you clutch his arm, afraid that if you let him go, you might awaken from this dream. “Stay, please?”

“Are you sure? It would not take me long, and I will be sure to stay close.”

“I’m sure, please.”

“As you wish,” Astarion removes his shirt and lays on the blanket, closing his eyes and basking in the sun. “If you change your mind, you have only but to ask. I do not like letting you go hungry.”

You sit beside him and grab the wine, uncork it and drink it straight from the bottle, disregarding the glass flutes.

He opens one eye momentarily and chuckles, “Hells, I see you’re still as boorish as ever.”

“Oh, shut up,” you giggle while giving him a playful shake, “You used to love my lack of decorum.”

When you used to love me, or at least, I thought you did.

Astarion takes the bottle from you and drinks straight from it with a wink, “Who says I don’t still love it, you delinquent.”

He hands the bottle back and lies back with his eyes closed. There’s something so tranquil about him like this. You can barely believe that just a day ago, he had his hands wrapped around your neck while he tore at your throat. It feels like a distant nightmare and makes you question if it really happened.

Your fingers trace the scabbed, coin-sized holes he marred your skin with as if to prove to yourself it was real. There’s always a dull, icy throbbing in your breast as if you’re heart believes it should be beating and is trying to rival its death. Some days, the pain is easily overlooked, but right now, it feels like someone is driving barbed shards of ice through your heart with a heavy hand and thundering strikes. Bringing your hand to your chest, you put pressure on it as if that might impede the malignancy.

You need a distraction, a physical sensation on your skin that you can focus on before you try to claw your heart out, “Are there any people around here?”

Astarion listens intently for a few seconds before shaking his head, “No, there’s no one around for miles. Why?”

You swallow your anguish and give him a devious grin, “Can I swim in that water?”

He probs himself up and grins, “It’s not running. You should be fine.”

“Excellent,” you giggle, taking another big drink and handing him the bottle.

You remove your clothes and wade in, disturbing and rippling the glassy surface. Diving into it, you let yourself sink to the murky bottom. The water is cold, even to you, and nips your skin like needlepoints being dragged across your flesh. The sunless silence is serene, and you consider letting it swallow you whole, but when you open your eyes toward the surface, you can see the silhouette of Astarion standing on the bank. Bending your knees, with a push, you propel yourself to the surface, to him, because that’s what you do – is it not? You always return to him, even at your detriment.

Astarion’s eyes you regardfully with nervous scrutiny, as if he had been afraid you may never come back.

“It’s cold,” you warn him.

“That’s really not a problem,” he chuckles, relaxing his expression once he’s assessed you’re safe. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

You arch a calculating brow at him, and he rolls his eyes, “Sweetheart, get your head out of the gutter. Gods, you’re a freak sometimes.”

“Another thing you used to love about me,” you snicker while walking up to him. “What would you like to show me?”

“Used to” hm? That’s another wildly inaccurate statement,” Astarion tsks while he takes your hand and places it on his warm skin with a soft exhale and a wince that makes you smirk your “I-told-you-so” look. Slowly, his body cools until he’s as cold as you.

Your brows furrow as you place your hand on random spots of him. Icy cold everywhere. “You can control your body temperature?”

“I can do a great many things,” he chuckles with a cunning lop-sided half smile twerking one corner of his lips up, “Interesting ability, although I have found little use for it until now.”

Before you can register what he’s doing, Astarion giggles mischievously, picks you up and throws you back into the lake as if he were throwing a pebble, removes his trousers and wades in with you.

“That was rude!” You glower at him playfully and tap your chin with your finger, “Retribution may be required. I might have to get your hair wet.”

“Don’t you dare!”

With a wicked grin, you start splashing him, and he lunges toward you. By the time he’s subdued you with his arms wrapped around yours, he’s drenched, including his hair, and you’re both laughing loudly.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” he giggles. “Naughty thing.”

Laughing, you comb your fingers through his hair and muss it further, “Don’t worry, you still look earth-shatteringly dashing.”

Astarion brushes wet strands of your hair out of your eyes, “You’re a vision.” He purrs while pulling you close to him, guiding your legs around his waist.

His thumb traces your lower lip. When he takes your lips in his, the kiss is raw with emotion, demanding and primal. His finger puts gentle pressure on your chin, opening your mouth for him, and his tongue explores you with a longing groan.

Astarion abruptly breaks the kiss and stares off to the side, a million miles away. An almost startled confusion distorts his expression, which perplexes you. Have you made him uncomfortable somehow?

“Astarion,” you cradle his face with your palm, “What’s wrong?”

Astarion’s jaw clenches, and he swallows hard, making his Adam's apple bob. His eyes snap back to yours, a scarlet tempest of determination raging athwart his irises, “I think we need to talk.” 

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

Please note - we may end up giving Tav a name. I've been agonizing over the idea for a while because it was something I never meant to do, but my resolve is weakening haha. If you're incredibly against the idea, please let me know.

I know my portrayal of A. Astarion is a softer version - I guess I have a weak spot for an Astarion that's all-powerful but still not completely cold and horribly abusive - although, he does have his moments.

[soulofapatrick]

Sanctuary - Nick Burkhardt x Female Reader

Summary: You go to Nick's after getting attacked Wesen

Words: 2.3k

Warning: Fighting; hurt x comfort

Y/N’s POV

The adrenaline surges through my veins, drowning out the pain from the attackers’ blows. All three are wesen, throwing words at me but I can barely hear them over the ringing in my ears, they’re growling something about being friends with a Grimm or something. Fear, anger and desperation collide within me as I manage to dig my elbow into one of their sides and he loses his grip on me enough for me to wriggle to freedom and make a break for it. 

I sprint through the dimly lit streets, each step being agony and I think I’ve definitely broken my ankle as pain radiates up my leg with each step. The only thought echoing through my mind is, “Gotta get to Nick’s.” My Fuchsbau instincts cream danger, urging me to push myself almost beyond my own limits. The night air bites at my skin, my own blood feeling warm as it seeps from all my injuries, but the urge to seek refuge at Nick’s house drives me forwards. I can’t let them catch me again, not when the safety of a Grimm and my friend awaits so close. 

My breaths come in ragged gasps, chest heaving, legs burning with exertion. The familiar route to Nick’s house feels longer tonight, every street corner a potential ambush. Yet, the determination to reach the one place I know they won’t come to fuels my sprint. 

Finally, the familiar facade of Nick’s house emerges, a beacon of hope in the darkness. I trip my way up the stairs on the porch and practically collapse against the door, my knuckles pounding against it, desperation evident in the urgency of my knocks. Every second feeling like an eternity until the door swings open and Nick is having to step forwards to catch me as my legs give way now the door isn’t there to support me and the adrenaline is fading into the blinding agony. 

“Y/N’s?! What… Wh-“ 

“They came out of nowhere,” I manage to choke out through the tears that bubbled up, making me choke, “They cut me, they tore at me, they…” 

Nick’s arms envelope me, holding me tightly against his chest. His touch feels like an anchor, grounding me amidst the chaos of my emotions. His face is buries in my hair, I feel the tremors of anger vibrating through me as his hisses, “Those bastards,” His voice is laced with a raw fury I’ve only heard once before, “I won’t let them get away with this.” 

His words though soft, resonate with a promise. A promise of protection, of retribution. His anger reverberates against my skin, soothing the ache of vulnerability with the reassurance that he’s willing to stand up for me despite his ancestors going out of their way to kill Wesen. I just cling to him, seeking solace in his embrace, grateful for the solidarity and the unspoken vow to right the wrongs inflicted upon us. 

Nick's reassurance is a steady comfort, his promise a shield against the darkness closing in. "Let's get you cleaned up," he murmurs, his voice now a soothing balm after the storm of anger. His hands move gently over my skin, rubbing away the residue of fear and pain.

I nod weakly, unable to voice my gratitude, and he leads me up the stairs to his room. The familiarity of his space brings a sense of safety, a respite from the chaos outside. He offers to run me a bath, but I shake my head, not ready to face the vulnerability of soaking in water when every touch stings and I’m gripping onto Nick’s sleeve not wanting him to leave me. 

“Hey,” his voice is a gentle caress, his hand covering mine that grips his sleeve tightly, “I’ll be right back, okay? Just going to grab the first aid kit.” 

Reluctantly, I release my grip, watching as he heads to the bathroom. Alone in his room, I take in the familiar surroundings—the soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand, the reassuring scent of his cologne lingering in the air. It’s a respite from the chaos outside, a sanctuary in the midst of turmoil. I hear the faint sounds of Nick rummaging in the bathroom, a distant echo of comfort. In that feeling moment, I let myself breathe, trying to steady my nerves and wipe away the tears while awaiting his return. 

Less than a minute later, Nick reappears, first aid kit in hand. His presence aline brings a sense of security, the knowledge he’s here to help and trusts me enough to be in his room, to mend not just physical wounds but also the motional toll of the attack. 

He settles beside me once more, his touch gentle yet purposeful as he tends to the injury on my shoulder. The warmth of his care washes over me, a reminder that despite the dangers lurking in the shadows, there are allies, friends willing to stand by me. 

He reaches for a damp cloth, cleaning the blood from my face with careful strokes. His movements are tender, a silent understanding passing between us. I offer no resistance as, with my silent consent, he helps me shed the dirty, blood-stained clothes, leaving me in just my underwear before him. 

Awareness prickles along my skin, a sudden rush of self-consciousness as I sit there, exposed and vulnerable in front of Nick, my long-term crush. The air between us feels charged, heavy with unspoken sentiments and a history that goes beyond mere friendship. I can’t help but wrap my arms around my already bruising sides, covering the galaxies of reds, purples, blues and greens from his sight and mine. 

My arms involuntarily wrap around my bruised sides, shielding the kaleidoscope of colours from both Nick’s sight and my own. Despite the comforting reassurance in his presence, the vulnerability of this moment hangs heavy in the air. 

A wave of emotions crashes over me, leaving me momentarily breathless. Before I can retreat further into myself, Nick’s rough yet gentle hands cups my cheek, guiding my face to look at him. His eyes hold a tenderness that sends a tremor through me. 

“Don’t hide.” He murmurs, his voice a soft reassurance, “You’re… beautiful.” 

His words hold a weight that goes beyond physical appearances. They echo with a understanding, a depth of connection that transcends the bruises and scars. For a moment, silence envelopes us, thick and sweet, wrapping around us like a cocoon. 

In that suspended moment, I feel the shift in the air, a subtle change that sparks anticipation and nerves alike. Nick ducks his head towards me as if he’s going to kiss me and my pulse skyrockets as I must still be on the floor and the wesen have beaten me half to death. I must be dreaming this but no, Nick’s lips brush against mine in a soft, tentative kiss. 

The touch is gentle, a whispered promise of shared feelings, a tender exploration of them. His kiss holds a tenderness that mingles with he weight of unspoken words, a silent understanding passing between us in a stolen moment. But he’s pulling away almost too quickly, a nervous look in his eyes before we both break into relieved smiles. 

He presses a chaste kiss to my forehead, his touch lingering for a heartbeat longer, “I need to Monroe and Hank,” He says softly, his voice carrying a mixture of reassurance and a hint of lingering emotions, “Pick what you want from my wardrobe sweetheart, I’ll be right downstairs.” He goes to leave before pausing in the doorway, “You’re safe.” 

Watching him leave the room, I’m left sitting there, feeling a blend of emotions sweating within me. It’s a dizzying mix of elation and disbelief, a rush of happiness tempered by the weight of uncertainty. Nick’s reciprocal feelings, evident in tat fleeting kiss, send a surge of warmth through me, yet doubt lingers in the corners of my mind. 

In the quiet of his room, I take a moment to gather my thoughts. The realising that Nick might share the same feelings leaves me in awe, tingling sensation in my chest that’s both thrilling and overwhelming. 

I pull myself to my feet ignoring the pain in my ankle, hobbling to his chest of drawers and sifting through them, picking out some clothes, my mind racing with a whirlwind of emotions. There’s a sense of joy and wonder at the prospect of Nick returning my affections, mingled with a hint of trepidation. If this is what they’re willing to do to me for being friends with Nick what would they do if they knew I was with Nick? 

I shake those thoughts from my head, getting dressed in the slightly oversized clothes before heading towards the stairs. Each step is a reminder of the lingering pain, but the warmth of Nick’s home offers solace and a sense of security. 

As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see Nick finishing up his call, likely with Hank. He rushes over as I approach, concern etched into his features. With careful guidance, he leads me to the couch, settling me down with gentle ease. 

In a rush of confidence, my heart pounding with a mix of nerves and boldness, I reach out and grab the collars of his button-up shirt, tugging him closer. For a moment, it’s as if gravity itself conspires against us as he nearly topples over, catching himself of the back and arm of the sofa before he can fall onto me properly. A chuckle leaving him, a sound seems to soothe the lingering tension in the air. There’s a warmth in his laughter, an acknowledgement of the unexpected situation, yet his eyes hold a glimmer of affection. 

“Careful there,” He teases gently, adjusting his position to sit properly on the couch, our shoulders touching. The closeness feels both natural and electrifying but, it’s not enough for me. I need him closer, I need to kiss him again and it’s as if he’s thinking the same thing. He turns his head to face me, lips parted as if he’s going to say something but then those entrancing eyes flick down my own lips and it’s like all self-control snaps. 

His large hands are gripping my waist and carefully he’s sitting me on his lap so I’m straddling him, knees either side and injured ankle hanging off the couch and out of harms way. One of his hands moves up my side and to my cheek, eyes searching my face for any doubts before he’s drawing me into a much more heated kiss than before. 

The kiss is an inferno, a collision of emotions and unspoken yearnings. His lips, warm and inviting, meld with mine in a dance of passion and tenderness. There’s a hunger in the way out lips move together, each touch igniting a spark that blurs the lines between us. Nick’s scent surrounds me, a blend of his cologne and the natural warmth of his skin, an intoxicating mix that fills my sense. His hand, firm yet gentle on my cheek, anchors me in the moment, while my hands find their way to the front of his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons, needing to feel the skin beneath. 

As the kiss deepens, it feels like the world around us fades away, leaving only the heat of our connection, the rhythm of our heartbeats echoing in sync. Nick’s hand, initially resting on my cheek, moves to tangle in my hair, a silent invitation that sets my nerves alight. His other hand pulls me closer, drawing me flush against him, erasing any remaining distance between us. 

The kiss deepens even more, a silent battle for dominance as our desires collide. There’s a fiery passion in the way our lips move together, a dance of intertwined emotions and unspoken longing.

Feeling the tension between us, Nick tugs gently on my hair, eliciting a gasp that grants him entry. His tongue slips into the kiss, a rush of heat and longing intertwining with every movement. It's a dance of desire, a symphony of shared emotions as our tongues meet in a passionate tango, exploring, and claiming.

The symphony of our passion seems to carry us into a realm beyond the confines of times and space. Lost in the embrace of the moment, we barely register the sound of the front door opening. Hank, Rosalee and Monroe’s voices call out Nick’s name, their footsteps echoing through the house, shattering the intimacy between us. 

Before I can slide off Nick’s lap, three sets of footsteps echo into the room. Rosalee, ever perceptive, swiftly ushers Hank and Monroe straight past us and into the kitchen, an unspoken understanding flashing between our fleeting eye contact. 

There’s a fleeting moment of shock that lingers in the air, our gazes meeting with a shared sense of urgency. I scramble to disentangle myself from Nick's lap, cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and the remnants of passion, crying out in pain at putting pressure on my ankle which has the three rushing back in. 

Nick, composed yet flustered, adjusts himself as we both regain our composure. The interruption feels like a cold splash of reality, abruptly yanking us back from the heated moment we shared and he’s helping me sit down again. Pressing another loving kiss to my forehead before murmuring, “Get some sleep, let me talk to them. I’ll be here when you wake.” 

I hesitate as Nick rises to his feet, eyes soft as he says one word quietly, “Sleep.”  And it’s the last thing I hear before I find myself passing out from exhaustion, a smile on my kiss-swollen lips. 

Grimm Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[thelordofhats]

Murder on the W Express thoughts, heavy spoilers under the cut.

Faust is the easier one to talk about—she’s lost her wifi connection, can no longer access Faustcord or Faustpedia. She’s adrift, and we get to see her cope with that. And it’s very, very good.

I’ve seen people say that her every move is being like, tyrannically dictated by the Gesellschaft, and I don’t really think that’s accurate. At least, not in the sense that she’s some unwilling slave. I would describe it more as… Faust made a (Faustian) bargain (with Faust) to gain knowledge of (Faust) all things. After all—she values knowledge very highly! How could she pass up on this? And I wouldn’t be surprised if the asking price wasn’t even that high.

But what she didn’t really realize is how much she valued the *pursuit* of knowledge, of pushing against her limitations. But now, with all of the information she could possibly ask for at her fingertips, everything is just a matter of entering a couple of search terms, and there you go. It’s all been done before. Sure, there are some blind spots. But given that there are innumerable Fausts, she isn’t really going to be the right Faust for the job of uncovering that. And so, slowly, a lot of who Faust was as a person sort of atrophied. Just follow the wisdom of the collective. If you try and find it out for yourself, you’re just replicating work for no reason—what’s the point? Just follow the path. Embrace the comfort of absolute certainty. Nothing needs to be left to chance.

But the child has, briefly, fallen out of the flask. She doesn’t have that Certainty to fall back on, and it has reminded her of the Thrill of acting on her own initiative. Of not knowing what’s going to happen, and making a gamble. Of actual collaboration with other people, getting different perspectives on available information and sifting the truth out of them. She has, momentarily, returned to the Flask. But a seed has been planted, and is going to grow. A hungry seed, that wants *more* than this gray Certainty. That does not want to be that husk of a self.

(Dante doesn’t parallel all of that, but they definitely reflect on how easily they fell into Faust Knows, Just Ask Faust, and how dangerous that reliance was).

I like it a lot.

Don Quixote is Don Quixote. Not a lot more to say there—because the character to *really* discuss is, as I will refer to her, Alonso Quixano.

We don’t see all that much of her. But there are a couple of things we can say for certain:

1) She is Crazy Powerful. So let’s take it on faith given what we’ve seen that we’re working on World of Darkness rules here, and the higher your generation number the weaker you are. Don is almost *certainly* at least on par with Elena. “One of the last fights in LoR” Elena. “Star of the City who killed a Color Fixer” powerful. Alonso can straight-up tell a lesser Bloodfiend to fuck off and die, and boom, he is dead.

2) She’s comfortable with authority and hierarchy. I’m pretty sure she has an Arbiter silhouette for a reason—not because she is/was one, but because that is the feeling they are trying to sell. She doesn’t explode the guy because he’s a monster, she exploded him because he transgressed against the hierarchy. Also the way she addresses Dante—others are Beneath Her.

3) Her drip is impeccable. I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules.

Those are things we can state for certain. Past this is speculation on my part:

1) She fucking *hates* herself. She is, in her own mind, a horrible monster. And she views her own nature as being basically inescapable. She isn’t chasing redemption here, making up for past acts. She can’t be redeemed. She can’t change. She puts on the boots so that she can Stop Being Alonso Quixano completely. She *needs* to not be herself. Not a different version of herself, she needs to be somebody else entirely. It doesn’t seem like she shares Don’s memories at all. She wants to have nothing to do with herself.

2) She doesn’t actually believe that Fixers are the paragons of virtue that Don does. But she does very much like the *ideal*, all the same. She read a bunch of stories that were maybe children’s stories, maybe just press releases, and what she really loved was the idea of the kind of person who would believe in that, even though she never could. A pure heart believing in heroes, in chivalry, in Justice. So the persona of Don Quixote is carefully crafted to be that.

3) The Dream Ending is probably going to be some level of “sorry, you can’t just wish yourself out of existence like that”. Don isn’t getting full-on replaced by Alonso, but she is probably going to have some level of *awareness* of Alonso, and of her own nature. A gradual synthesis.

4) Alonso is a Blood Fiend. Don is… mostly not. I think Rocinante prevents Don from doing most of that kind of stuff (except, if I am reading this right, eating that one W Corp employee to recover).

5) I don’t think Dante can rewind bloodfiend stiff, judging by how it interacted with the Warp Train—if Alonso did go all out and needed to recharge, she’s gonna have to munch people, there’s no getting around it.