#Darkromance

[sepulcher-of-the-light]

Cosmic love, art by Lucas Garcete

[s-soulwriter]

Dark past ideas

A dark past can be really intresting in books .here are some ideas:

Mysterious Orphanage Escapee: A character who grew up in a sinister orphanage and narrowly escaped its dark secrets.

Traumatic War Survivor: A soldier who witnessed unspeakable horrors on the battlefield, leaving deep emotional scars.

Secret Criminal Past: A reformed criminal who once led a life of violence, but is now trying to make amends.

Kidnapped as a Child: A character who was abducted at a young age and endured years of captivity before escaping.

Tragic Family Betrayal: A character who was betrayed by a close family member, leading to a life filled with distrust and pain.

Cult Escapee: Someone who managed to break free from a dangerous cult, but is haunted by their past involvement.

Haunted by a Violent Crime: A person who accidentally caused harm to someone in their past and has been tormented by guilt ever since.

Dark Addiction: A character who battled a severe addiction that nearly destroyed their life before seeking recovery.

Betrayed by a Friend: A friend who turned out to be a traitor, leading to significant emotional trauma.

Abandoned in Isolation: Someone who was left alone and abandoned in a desolate place, struggling to survive.

Witness to a Murder: A character who saw a murder as a child and was forever scarred by the experience.

Childhood Experimentation: A person who was subjected to unethical scientific experiments in their youth, leaving lasting physical and emotional scars.

Kidnapped and Forced into Crime: A character who was abducted and forced to commit criminal acts against their will.

Betrayed by a Mentor: Someone who was betrayed by a trusted mentor, leading to a deep sense of betrayal and loss.

Survived Natural Disaster: A survivor of a catastrophic natural disaster who lost everything they held dear.

Abusive Relationship Escapee: A person who managed to escape an abusive relationship, but continues to struggle with the trauma.

Witness to a Dark Ritual: A character who stumbled upon a sinister occult ritual in their past, leaving them haunted by the experience.

Family Curse: A character burdened by a dark family curse that has brought suffering to generations.

Identity Theft and Framing: A person who had their identity stolen and was wrongfully accused of crimes they didn't commit.

[oldwinesoul]

[lighthousepigeons]

[During the Heathens initiation]

Niko, in his mask: Run if you want to live.

Brandon: *Runs*

Niko, confused: Not like towards me though.

Brandon:

[spacebabesuki]

Love Potion - Hellcheer

Eddie Munson|Chrissy Cunningham|Hellcheer Week 2024| Witch - Day 4 @hellcheerweek

oneshot, word count 2.3k [+16]

Summary: but a devil wouldn’t fit into something so beautiful, right? Actually, it made sense; after all, the Bible said that Lucifer, the father of all bad and tempting things—including little blonde girlfriends who liked to whisper dirty things in your ear—was the most beautiful angel in the sky. So yeah, she was definitely the devil. He didn’t know shit about the Bible, but he understood temptation all too well.

Eddie Munson sat on the edge of his bed, barely breathing, his eyes locked on the girl sleeping under his covers—Chrissy Cunningham. His Chrissy. It still felt surreal, like some kind of twisted fever dream. Her soft blonde hair fanned across his black pillow, her lashes fluttered slightly as she breathed in slow, steady rhythms. She looked like an angel.

He couldn’t stop staring at her, couldn’t tear his eyes away, even though he was exhausted from what they had just done. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock beside his bed. 3 a.m.—the witching hour. He chuckled at the silly thought. There he was, shirtless on the edge of his bed, his skin still burning from where her nails had dug into him when he was on top of her. Sleep? Impossible. Not with Chrissy right there, her presence filling his small room like some kind of spell.

Her perfume lingered in every corner—on his sheets, his pillows—and he loved it. Because when she was gone, he’d bury his face in his pillow just to inhale that sweet scent that drove him so fucking crazy. It twisted his mind until he could barely think. Her smell, her voice, everything about her. He loved her so fucking much it made him lose his grip on reality. It was like everything else disappeared when she was near, like she had cast a spell over him. Maybe that’s exactly what this was.

How else could he explain it? Obsession? Maybe. But he preferred to think of her as one of those powerful witches from his D&D campaigns, the kind that could slay the bravest warriors with just a glance.

He would kill for her. Die for her. Rob a bank for her. Let her kill him. Throw fire at everything for her. He'd do anything for her if she asked with those big blue eyes. He didn’t care if it ended his life or if it sent him to prison. If she asked, he’d do it. No hesitation. It had to be some kind of potion, some kind of witchcraft. He loved her too much for it to be considered normal.

Still that day, he didn’t know how it had happened—how Chrissy Cunningham, the queen of Hawkins High, had endedup in his bed, in his world. She was everything Eddie wasn’t: popular, perfect, untouchable. And yet here she was, asleep in his bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they belonged together. But they didn’t. They couldn’t.

Right?

Eddie ran a hand through his wild, tangled hair, his heart racing faster the longer he stared at her. This had to be some kind of trick. Maybe… maybe she’d slipped something into his drink that night at the middle school talent show. That’s why he’d been obsessed with her for five years. Some potion, a love spell. And then, that day in the woods this year, she must’ve finished her witchcraft, and now he was stuck with her forever.

She could rip his heart out of his chest and he’d probably thank her for it. Fuck, he’d say, “Do it again… oh, I don’t have a heart anymore? I’ll grow another one for you.” He laughed at himself, knowing his late-night thoughts were the worst. But still, the idea of her being a witch made more sense than anything else right now. He always figured that if some ancient powerful witch reincarnated in this world, she’d choose to possess the most perfect, angelic, drop-dead gorgeous hot woman to exist - in that case Chrissy Cunningham.

Her eyes were out of this world. Ever since he’d looked into them for the first time, he hadn’t been able to forget. They were so blue, so impossibly blue, that he got lost every time he stared into them. Surreal, like no other eyes he’d ever seen. It felt like he could swim in them, like she cast a spell over him with every glance, every blink—like some kind of princess or doe-eyed character straight out of a fucking Disney movie.

It was surreal—the way her face lit up when she smiled, how her eyes shone with a brilliance that left him breathless. He had never seen anything more beautiful. It was angelic, transcendental. When she looked at him with that sweet, innocent expression, it was as if time stood still. Her eyebrows arched just right, framing her gaze, giving her that pure, sweet look that made his heart race.

Witchcraft.

In those moments, everything else faded away. The chaos of the world melted into the background, and all that mattered was her. She was a spell he never wanted to break, a dream he was afraid to wake up from. Each time she turned her gaze on him, he felt as if he were floating, caught in a tide of affection and admiration, completely enchanted by her beauty.

Witchcraft.

He leaned in closer, trying to get a better look at her face. She looked so peaceful, so innocent. But what if it was all an act? What if Chrissy was really a witch, and he was the fool who’d fallen under her spell? His head spun with the thought, but at the same time, he couldn’t bring himself to care. Even if she had bewitched him, he didn’t want it to stop. He’d never felt like this before—this deep, aching need to be near someone, to protect her, to… worship her.

Or maybe she wasn’t even dreaming. Maybe she was just recharging her witchy powers—the ones she drained from him every time he was inside her, like some kind of mating love potion. He laughed again at his ridiculous thoughts. Honestly, if she used him to feed herself, he wouldn’t care. If she killed him, he’d just say, “Thank you, sweet thing. My sweet girl, my angel, my pretty doll.”

Slowly, he raised a finger and gently brushed a strand of hair away from her flushed face. So beautiful...fuck...fuck...FUCK, she's unreal.

Eddie had always thought witches were just stories—until he met Chrissy. Her smile? Pure magic, casting a spell he couldn’t escape. The way her blonde hair fell over her shoulders, golden like the light of the moon, hypnotized him every time she flipped it. And her eyes, crystal blue, were potions in themselves, drawing him in deeper and making his heart race in ways he didn’t understand. Every glance, every soft laugh, enchanted him more, leaving him feeling like a poor human in the hands of the most powerful creature on the planet.

He loved her so much it burned—a crazy kind of love that drove him closer to the edge of insanity with each passing day.

And he wanted to be forever.

He was certain that when she looked into his eyes, she enchanted him—pure witchcraft. She moved like a spell woven into the air, a grace that left him breathless. Her laughter was a potion that filled the room, wrapping around him like silk. He felt bewitched, caught in a web of shimmering starlight and magic. Every glance was a hex, his heart racing every time their eyes met.

“Chrissy,” he whispered, as if her name were an incantation, capable of summoning the very essence of her beauty. She was an enchantress, effortlessly weaving a tapestry of warmth and light that made the mundane world dissolve. In those moments, surrounded by the hum of life, he was completely hers—lost in the spell she cast, longing to remain enchanted forever.

As he looked at her, he noticed the blue eyeshadow on her eyelids, smudged from the sweat of what they had done before she fell asleep. He smiled again at his foolish thoughts, realizing that every witch in movies and horror magazines seemed to love blue eyeshadow, just like the kind she always wore.

She looked like a fucking angel, but she wasn’t one. Sometimes he liked to think of her as an angel, but an angel wouldn’t make him feel this way—so pure because of her blue eyes, her golden hair like a halo, and her soft voice.

But deep down, he wondered if she was a devil in disguise because of the things she whispered in his ear: “You can cum inside. I take pills, remember? Just put it inside me, baby, please.” See? THE DEVIL. The dirtiest words delivered in the softest, sweetest voice in the world. Fuck, goddammit, girl—she was the fucking devil disguised as an angel.

The way she wrapped her perfect legs—soft as velvet—around his back drove him wild, making his cock, always wet and so fucking hard for her, go even deeper inside her. All the while, he was sweating on top of her, counting the seconds to last longer because being inside her, feeling her perfect body, seeing her perfect boobs bounce beneath him, rubbing against his chest, and hearing her sweet mouth moaning was simply too much for him.

But a devil wouldn’t fit into something so beautiful, right? Actually, it made sense; after all, the Bible said that Lucifer, the father of all bad and tempting things—including little blonde girlfriends who liked to whisper dirty things in your ear—was the most beautiful angel in the sky. So yeah, she was definitely the devil. He didn’t know shit about the Bible, but he understood temptation all too well.

God, he was obsessed with her.

It’s a love potion. A witch's potion, he is sure of it. He remains trapped in this spell of love and wants to be forever. He loves her in every way imaginable, obsessed with her, relishing the moments when he lays her down on the bed, lifts her cheerleader skirt, and stays inside her until his mouth goes numb—licking and kissing beneath the delicate white silk of her panties, savoring every perfect inch of her soft skin—so fucking soft, like a peach. Sometimes, he loses his mind, wanting to bite, lick, and suck until he drowns in her sweetness, feeling so fucking lucky because he can’t believe he holds an angel in his arms.

He adores her, just as weak-minded humans adore religion. He, who had never believed in religion, always thought it was the greatest evil in the world—he, who had always mocked fanatical believers and swore he’d never have a religion—now has a religion. She is his religion. He would starve for her, kill for her, protest for eternity for her, build altars and churches in her name, wage wars for her, erase cultures for her, destroy worlds for her, drop bombs for her.

He would kneel for her, just as he does every night; he kneels to pray, even though he doesn’t know any prayers—only for her. Because when he’s with her, kissing her, he adores her—he prays between her legs. He has never prayed before, never adored anything that would compel him to pray, except for her.

For her, and only for her, he would kneel because she is his religion. He doesn’t even believe in God, but when he’s on his knees for her, between her legs, he prays.

“Hallelujah, hallelujah, I need your love. You’re my religion; you’re how I live. When I’m down on my knees, you’re how I pray.”

And here he is, crazy for her, watching her sleep so peacefully on his bed, wrapped in his blanket, with her blue eyeshadow accentuating her angel beauty. Her naked soft skin glows against the white sheets, and her pretty strawberry-blonde hair cascades down, so long it seems surreal and golden. The white sheet around her only enhances her appearance, making her look like a transcendentally beautiful creature from another world, her soft shoulders exposed, the curve of her breasts visible. It’s a breathtaking sight, and he wants to kneel and pray.

She was like heroin made just for him; her effect on him was like a drug—witchcraft—it wasn't normal. It gave him everything, and if she took his life away, he would die addicted to pure pleasure.

Not a devil, not an angel, but a witch; there’s no way what he feels for her is normal. It’s an obsession, a voodoo-like desire. He doesn’t care; he wouldn’t mind if she killed him. How can someone be so beautiful? He’s more than in love—she holds his heart in her hands. If she wants to practice voodoo, transform him into her doll, drive a stake into his heart, and bathe in his blood, witchcraft, or cast any spell on him, he would let her. He wants to remain under the effect of this love potion forever.

As he gazed at her, lost in the depths of his fervor, he realized he was willingly ensnared in her enchantment. The world outside faded, and all that mattered was the intoxicating magic between them—a spell woven from longing and desire. In that moment, he understood that love could be as dangerous as it was beautiful, a dark dance between devotion and madness. If this was the price of her affection, he would gladly pay it, surrendering himself to her every whim. In her arms, he discovered a love where every heartbeat echoed with the promise of forever—a love potion he never wanted to escape.

His heart was in her hands, and he craved nothing more than to let her do whatever she wanted with it, as she wished, praying that it would last forever—forever in her hands.

He leaned back against the headboard, still watching her, still wide awake.

Maybe he’d never sleep again. Because when you were under a love spell, sleep wasn’t an option.

[jtargaryen18]

Hounds of Hell MC 4: Ryder ~ Available today!

I’m not the settling type, but she’s in my heart. I’ll protect her from the Mafia or die trying…

Margot -- I've loved Ryder since we were kids, but he's never been the type to stick with anyone for long. Being a deputy sheriff means I see the world differently--by the law. He’s the opposite. The Mafia took my father from me. When they return to threaten everything I care about, including Ryder, I realize the line between right and wrong isn’t so clear. If we’re going to survive this, I’ll need Ryder’s strength. Maybe this time, we’ll face danger together.

Ryder -- Margot’s been right in front of me for years, but I’m the guy who never sticks around. Commitment? Not for me. Now she’s all I see. When the Mafia comes after the Hounds, everything is at stake. Margot’s not just a deputy sheriff -- she’s the woman I’ve always needed. The woman I love. I’ll die before I let anything happen to her.

Buy it @ Changeling Press

You'll also find pre-order links for Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords & Vivlio where it will be available on 10/31!

Enter my October Giveaway! (If you select 'fanfics' you'll get a newsletter with all my published titles but you'll also get updates on my fanfics and you'll get the chapters before they post here or anywhere else. Also, planning to do some extras like deleted scenes, extra scenes, and more!)

Excerpt

With the efficiency of a SWAT team, she ordered lunch, paid for it, and had them tucked away at a small table in the corner, enjoying burgers and fries.

“What’s that?” Ryder pointed at the tall, covered cup.

“Strawberry shake. They’ve always had the best shakes here. You want one?”

“Nah,” Ryder said. “Just a little concerned, is all. You’re starting with milkshakes. Milkshakes lead to donuts. Next thing you know, you’re going to lose your girlish figure and you’ll be stuck running radar out by the interstate.”

Margot laughed, a high, lovely sound. “Don’t worry about my girlish figure.”

“I like your girlish figure,” Ryder said, grinning.

“Since when?” A little of the humor faded from her expression at that. “I’m probably the only non-relative female you haven’t slept with in a hundred-mile radius.”

“More like a 50-mile radius,” Ryder said.

But he hadn’t been lying when he said he liked her figure. Margot was just about perfect. Nice rack. Great ass. A killer smile made all the more adorable for her dark eyes and the freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Margot had a good head on her shoulders, too. He enjoyed talking to her, their playful banter. He couldn’t imagine a world where he couldn’t have these light-hearted conversations with Mercy’s newest deputy sheriff.

“It doesn’t bother you to be having lunch with a biker?” He couldn’t resist asking.

“It doesn’t bother you that you’re having lunch with a cop?” Margo eyed him. “How did you get to town?”

“Rode my bike,” Ryder said. “Might not have been my best idea. I mean, I was okay getting here. Not sure how getting back is going to go.”

“How long are you going to stay?” Margot’s dark-eyed gaze stayed on him.

Shrugging a shoulder, Ryder finished off a French fry. “I’d like to finish the day out,” he admitted. “But now that I’m sitting here, I’m feeling pretty fucking tired.”

It was the truth and he’d never been good at keeping that from her. His friend’s gaze was knowing.

“Why don’t we take you home after lunch? I’d be glad to drive you back.”

Ryder knew she would. But he would disappoint himself if he left after lunch to go home and climb back into bed in that lonely, quiet house. Shaking his head, he ate another fry, thought it over.

“I’m tired. Just not sure I’m tired enough to go back to the house and hang out by myself.”

More concern bled into her expression. “At least take a nap in the lounge or something. No one’s going to give you shit for it. You almost died.”

He had. Axel and Hero both cut him worried looks the entire time he’d been there, working on that engine. Margot had a point.

“Well, with me getting back on my feet, let me know if you need help with anything at the house.” He meant it. “Clyde was as bad as you about never wanting to bother anyone. If you need help with anything, I’m right here.”

Margot nodded, eating her burger. After a moment, her gaze met his. Her dark eyes were glossy.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone, Ryder,” she said quietly. “No warning. Just gone.”

Reaching across the table, he covered her hand with his. Some emotion flashed in her eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“He loved you more than anything,” he said. “Clyde was so proud of you.”

A tear spilled down her cheek at the words. “I know he was. It’s just… I worked so hard to find a job back over here in Mercy so I could be with him, help him as he got older. And now he’s gone. Shot by some mafia asshole like he was nothing.”

Swiping at her tears with her free hand, Margot tried to regain her composure.

“Clyde didn’t deserve that. And I wish my brother had been able to take that asshole out. Slow. But Sawyer was there and now the bastard’s in jail.”

That stopped her cold. Carefully, she moved her hand out from under his, shaking her head. “Don’t say that. He’ll pay for what he did in the system. Spend a long time in jail. He’ll think about what he did.”

“Will he?” Ryder asked. “He’s part of a criminal organization, Margot. They have a lot of resources. Maybe he’ll go to jail, but he won’t think a second about your father. He won’t be sitting up in some jail cell regretting his crimes either.”

He didn’t like the way her confidence waned, but he had to say it. “He’ll be trying to find a way out of there. And when he does, he’ll be looking for some payback and he’ll have his entire crime family at his back.”

Margot’s spine straightened where she sat, meeting his gaze squarely. “I have faith in the system. That man will pay for what he’s done.”

Ryder wasn’t so sure about that. He didn’t give a shit about the system. “He will pay,” Ryder said, hoping that he’d be the one to mete out that retribution. What he wouldn’t give to have a shot at the sons-of-bitches who killed Clyde Donner and Morgan Davis. Who tried to kill him.

He had faith in Margot. She’d been through the training, worked in the next county over. Margot knew what she was doing. But she was new enough that she still thought the criminal justice system infallible. Had she ever had dealings with big crime families? Did she understand what she was getting into?

Worse, he worried that the loss of her father would cause her to make a decision that would put her in harm’s way.

“Okay,” she said, her dark-eyed gaze on him. “If you won’t let me drive you back home and you insist on trying to stay at the garage, I’ll make you an offer. If you’re too tired to ride back to the country, you can crash at the house. I don’t have a spare key on me. But I have one. I’ll leave it under that old stone squirrel my dad loved.”

Always looking after him. What would he have done all those long weeks after he’d gotten out of the hospital without her? Axel had been the one to help him change his bandages, got him in the shower. Margot took care of most everything else from changing his bedding and keeping up the house, to bringing him groceries and leaving him meals he could warm up and eat. She’d taken care of him, her daily visits something he looked forward to.

What he’d done to deserve her, he didn’t know. Maybe she needed to stay busy to deal with her own loss.

“Sounds good,” Ryder said after a moment. “In case I haven’t told you, thank you. For everything. I’m not sure why you took it upon yourself to take care of my dumb ass but I’m grateful.”

Soft pink darkened her face. “You’re welcome.”

Something occurred to him. “Wait. You’re working the day shift,” he pointed out. “Where are you going to be later that you need to leave me a key?”

“Tonight’s my first class,” Margot reminded him.

“That’s right,” he said. “Your self-defense class.” She’d been so excited about it, telling him about what she had planned over the last few weeks. “I think Sadie signed up for it.”

“She did,” Margot said, smiling. “I think it will be good for her after everything she’d been through. And I was surprised. The day we got you back into the hospital, she came with Axel. We had a minute in the hall, and she was just… apologizing to me for my dad. She was blaming herself because it was her ex that killed him. But it wasn’t her fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Ryder said. “I think your class will help her.”

Something about the smile she cut him had his heart skipping a beat. Margot was a pretty woman. He’d always thought so. Unlike most of the girls he went around with, Margot didn’t do a lot to emphasize her natural beauty. Her nails were unpainted and short, and she wore only a hint of makeup most days. Her hair was put up in a precise bun, glossy and neat. Her uniform always pressed.

Yeah, sure. He’d seen Margot many times in her street clothes. She always favored jeans and simple tops. Her hair was usually pulled back into a ponytail and those days she didn’t wear any makeup. Not that she needed it. She was clearly comfortable in her own skin without all the paint and other enhancements women used to boost their femininity.

Her confidence was sexy as hell. Funny, considering Margot didn’t see herself that way. She didn’t realize she had the cutest ass, and her confident stride showed it off. What would Margot look like in a bikini, stretched out on a towel on the beach?

Shaking his head to clear it, he grinned. “Thanks for the offer of a place to stay,” he said. “Might take you up on it.”

Margot smiled. “Please do.”

The flirty little way she said that had him thinking thoughts he had no business thinking about his best friend.

[fizermusic]

Welcome to the Ghost Town

[amandakassis]

Bloody Vows | Eric Coulter x OFC | Vampire AU | Moodboard

A cold hand grabbed her elbow to bring Kate closer, his piercing gaze ran through her whole body, lips grazing her ear to whisper wicked words. "Congratulations, you caught the attention of every bloodsucker in the room but, don't you worry, I don't like to share."

Read it on AO3 or Wattpad.

[sepulcher-of-the-light]

Vampire among cypresses, by Lucas Garcete

[battinscnz]

𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑶𝑵 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮 & 𝑵𝑰𝑲𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑰 𝑺𝑶𝑲𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑽: 𝑰𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑴 𝑨𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑻𝑰𝑪

[oldwinesoul]

[lighthousepigeons]

Briar: Is that a hickey?

Lyra: No!! I got...bitten by a snake.

Alistair: That's a pretty big bite for a snake.

Lyra: It was a big snake. Mama snake.

Thatcher: *Walks in*

Briar: Hello mama snake.

[roshnispeaks]

[sweetiesshortstories]

˜”°•.˜”°• If Stars Could Love •°”˜.•°”˜

Part 3 NSFW

"What if I never want to leave? What will happen?" My eyes were watering, and my voice was straining.

"Then we would stay. Here inside this second in time. Our realities would continue to exist, unaware of the rift and we would be here." He shifted and his hand went to my chin to lift my face to his. I didn't want him to see me, or to look into my eyes, but he was adamant on my facing him. "I would feed you, bathe you, and care for you with my own hands. You would need for naught because there exists nothing I would not provide. And when you finally grow weary of me, and sick for home, I would place you back on the grass by the water while all the adoration I have ever held for you stayed within me. That is how I would continue to live with myself; keeping what I feel for you, with me always."

I had never heard perfection. In fact, my entire life I had been told perfection was a myth, something to strive for but it was as obtainable as the end of a rainbow. Yet he had strewn together the most perfect syllables anyone could ask for. The song for the unloved.

Without time as a concept, I can't tell you how long I stayed with him. We didn't have to measure anything that we did. Nothing was a wasted moment. He showed me nature with mobile roots, a rain that rose from the ground beneath our feet, and what a shooting star getting lost in the sun looked like. And when he finally touched me without caution, and his hands lingered, and his eyes kept looking at my mouth, I knew his desires were as primitive as mine. Just like the stories of the gods, of angels, as enlightened as they may be they always fell for the sins of the flesh.

On a hill under the orange light of the stars when Astraeus held my hand for a moment too long, I made a move to hug him, and he met me part of the way. Leaning slightly for me. But I didn't hug him, I kissed him. Not softly or sweet, and he matched me.

His lips overtook mine and his tongue dipped into my mouth, tasting me. I felt light, as if I could leave my body. His hands held me tightly, pressing me into him and my desire grew. A pulse throbbed between my legs and a pathetic whimper escaped my chest.

"Much too soon for that," he spoke against my lips. "I've not even begun with you yet." He captured my mouth and lifted me from the ground, gripping my ass firmly. I wrapped my legs around his waist and almost whimpered again feeling his length rub against me. He was so hard already I understood why early humans called them gods of pleasure. Gods of ecstasy.

His lips trailed down my neck, kissing, caressing, I dug my nails into his shoulders and my head fell back, exposing more of myself to him. I wanted to feel him everywhere, something I had never wanted in the past. He lifted me higher and I felt his tongue at my collarbone, slowly inching closer to the swell of my breasts. My breaths were shallow, I couldn't gather enough air, every touch from Astraeus made me even more sensitive for the next.

He dropped to his knees and lowered me onto grass as soft as velvet, I could hardly contain my giddy sigh as his lips traveled lower, sending a current through me. The thin dress didn't resist the guidance of his chin as he moved to free my breast. He engulfed me instantly. His tongue swirled over my puckered nipple, and he sucked ravenously. His teeth sunk into my skin and the pull of my mound into his mouth took my breath away. My toes curled and I wrapped myself even tighter around him as wetness pooled between my thighs. My fingers dug into his hair and gripped tightly as I pushed myself further into his mouth, whining and whimpering.

He was so large compared to me and instead of that making me timid, it made me feel safe. I was eager to be open for him and desperate to please him. He could use me and I would love him for it.

His hand traveled up my thigh and I trembled in anticipation. His touch was gentle but firm, asserting a soft control. He moved his mouth to my other breast, and I moaned loudly, impatient for his hand. Impatient his thick, hard--

"Is all of this sweet honey for me?" He purred as he tapped one finger against my sex and slipped into my folds. A sound escaped my chest, my body jolted from the touch and my stomach tightened. My whole body was vibrating.

"God, yes!" I threw my head back as he stroked my folds and massaged my swollen clit. I shamelessly thrusted myself into his hand seeking any amount of gratification I could steal.

"You call to me correctly,” as if rewarding me he plunged his fingers into me and feathered his lips up my neck. Finally, finally, finally! I yelped from the sensation. “You'll worship me over every God after what I do to you.” His lips crashed onto mine, and my needy moans were absorbed into him. Pleasure raced through my veins like a drug and my fluttered cries were no longer contained by his lips.

I needed to let the pleasure out somehow, it was filling me in every crevice and spilling over. My stomach rippled and he kept going, fingering me deeper and stroking me slower, coaxing the release, and I couldn’t control the noises I made. When his thumb pressed on my clit my body quivered and my eyes rolled so far back I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to see straight again. With my wetness he rubbed my clit over and over, still sliding inside of me and I felt the thread connecting me to reality...snap.

"My honeyed mortal, my sweet mortal. You're blooming right before me." His words dragged out my orgasm, the waves washing through me clogging my senses so much, I didn't feel him position himself at my soaking entrance. I was still tight when his head pushed through, still trying to come back to my body.

"Ast-Astraeus!" He was stretching me, filling me little by little and I still wasn't done processing what his fingers had done.

"My obedient human, singing my name," He taunted me as he sunk further. making me tighten my thighs around him to keep him at a distance. "Now, my human needs to open for me." He placed a hand on the inside of my thigh and pushed down, pinning it to the ground. My other leg was draped over his lower back and it clung to him desperately as my hand held him at his abdomen.

"Astraeus I can't, it's too soon after--" He silenced me with his mouth and I felt him fully sink into me, his pelvis coming flush against mine. I cried through his lips and his cock nestled inside of me, forcing room. I could feel him in my ribs.

He pulled out slowly and slid back in, holding my bottom lip between his teeth as I fought for air. My dress was at my waist and our skin stuck together from sweat, saliva, my nipples brushed against his chest with every motion. It was already too much. Stimulation was at every point in my body, and I wasn't equipped to handle it all. I turned my head away from him, gasping, and weakly pushed against his chest.

"I can't, I can't." I whimpered, shaking my head. Because I truly felt too human for what he was giving me. He grabbed both of my wrists and pinned them to the ground above my head, it jerked my dress back up my torso and pushed my breasts higher. With his other hand he pulled my chin to face him and stared intently in my eyes, his lips slightly parted.

"You can. I picked you. If you open yourself to me, I promise you pleasures greater than even this." He thrust back inside of me and I rolled my eyes with a moan. "Keep your gaze upon me, my earth flower." He pulled my chin towards him again and I stared at him through heavy lids. Still cupping my chin, he slipped his thumb into my mouth as he continued thrusting into me, deeply, slowly, and I sucked. I stroked his appendage with my tongue and sucked him as far as I could get him. Every time my eyes rolled, he would correct me and use his thumb to control my head by pulling me towards him.

"I want your eyes, human."

But I didn't want to look at him, not when I was so close. I was practically whimpering as I sucked his thumb through his thrusts, I was losing my composure. Orgasms were supposed to be sexy, beautiful, but I felt feral and desperate. As if reading my mind, he lowered his face next to mine and licked at the sensitive skin just under my ear.

"I love seeing you like this. Let yourself unfurl before me."

His words were like magic. He positioned his face in front of mine, our noses brushed, and I pulled my restrained hands into fists. I felt a flutter in my abdomen and his grip on my wrists tightened as he speared me over and over. His eyes swallowed me, and a euphoria blossomed from inside and forced a high-pitched cry from my throat. My teeth clamped onto his thumb and my entire scope of vision hazed within an instant, his features faded. I blinked to clear my vision and tears dripped from the corners of my eyes as my body rippled around him.

I could feel him pulsing his release into me and my body arched to meet him, to swallow him deeper. His hand disappeared from my wrists and he slipped his thumb from my lips as I panted and shivered. He slid his hands down my body, taking the thin straps on my dress with him and dragged them down my limp arms. He was still inside of me as he cupped my bare breasts in his hands, forcing a sound from my throat.

"Astraeus..." I breathed and lifted my own hands to my chest; he didn't entertain me. He ignored me, he squeezed my breasts and pinched my nipples between his fingers, and I felt our wetness drip from where he still sat inside of me.

"I like you best this way. Exposed, breathless, with my name on your tongue. I want to keep you this way." He moved his hands from my front to my back and pulled me upright with him, his still hard cock pressed against my cervix. "Allow me to take you higher." He nuzzled my mouth with his, and I tightened around his length at the affectionate touch.

He was going to fucking break me.

[s-soulwriter]

As Halloween approaches, it’s the perfect time to celebrate one of the most intriguing supernatural beings in literature and media: vampires. These creatures have captivated our imaginations for centuries, and it's easy to see why. Here’s an personal list of reasons why vampires truly reign supreme among supernatural beings.

Timeless Appeal: Vampires have remained popular for centuries, from classic tales like Bram Stoker's Dracula to contemporary series like Twilight and The Vampire Diaries. Their ability to adapt to changing societal norms and interests makes them a staple in storytelling, proving that they know how to stay relevant!

Mysterious Nature: There is an inherent intrigue surrounding vampires. With origins steeped in folklore and myth, each culture presents a unique interpretation, adding depth and richness to their narratives.

Immortality: The concept of immortality is a powerful fantasy. Vampires live through the ages, witnessing historical events and cultural shifts firsthand.

Seductive Charm: The allure of the vampire is often characterized by their seductive charm. This duality of being both enchanting and dangerous creates a compelling dynamic, drawing readers and characters alike into their orbit. Who can resist a character who’s both alluring and potentially lethal?

Complex Morality: Many vampires struggle with their darker instincts, offering a rich exploration of morality. Their internal conflicts regarding feeding on humans or the ethics of their actions provide depth to their character.

Supernatural Powers: Vampires possess an array of supernatural abilities that enhance their narratives. From enhanced strength and speed to mind control and shapeshifting, these powers create dynamic storylines filled with conflict and excitement. Plus, it must be nice to skip leg day!

Fashion Icons: Vampires are often portrayed as impeccably dressed, exuding elegance and sophistication. Their distinctive fashion sense, whether it’s Victorian capes or modern couture, adds a visual allure that enhances their mystique. Honestly, they make a turtleneck look threatening—who else can do that?

Cultural Significance: Vampires often reflect societal fears and desires, serving as metaphors for various themes such as death, sexuality, and the unknown. Their presence in literature allows for deep allegorical storytelling that resonates with readers on multiple levels. And they remind us that sometimes, our biggest fears come with fangs.

Versatility in Genre: Vampires can seamlessly transition across genres, thriving in horror, romance, fantasy, and even comedy. This versatility ensures that they can reach a broad audience and remain relevant in contemporary storytelling.

The Ultimate Anti-Hero: Many modern vampire stories present them as anti-heroes, allowing for complex character arcs that challenge traditional notions of heroism. This complexity invites empathy, as readers witness their struggles and growth. Plus, who doesn’t love a bad boy (or girl) with a heart of gold?

Connections with Humanity: Despite their monstrous nature, vampires often exhibit human emotions and relationships. Their struggles with loneliness, love, and loss resonate with audiences, allowing for a more profound connection to their characters.

Exploration of Power Dynamics: Vampire narratives frequently delve into themes of power and control, whether through the relationships they form or the dominance they exert over others. This exploration can prompt discussions about authority, consent, and the nature of power itself.

Enduring Legacy: The enduring legacy of vampires in popular culture speaks to their universal appeal. They have inspired countless adaptations, spin-offs, and retellings, proving that their stories can continually evolve while maintaining their core essence.

The Twilight of Their Power: As much as we love the dark side of them, let’s not forget the fun side of vampires: their struggle with the modern world. With the advent of garlic bread and sunscreen, these once-mighty creatures have had to navigate a world that can ruin their day in seconds.

As Halloween approaches, let us celebrate these fascinating beings and the myriad stories they inspire, reminding us of the complexities of life, death, and everything in between—all while being fabulously stylish.

DO YOU HAVR A FAVOURITE TYPE OF VAMPIRE ?

[fizermusic]

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