#Even Santiago he was turned in a moment of fear

[pacipinka]

*taps mic* is this thing on? Yeah okay so every vampire in the vampire chronicles is turned at critical a moment in their lives and beyond just the body they are in when they are turned, their mentality stays at that standstill for their entire immortality, Lestat was turned against his will, he was clinging onto Magnus begging him to be freed, so he’s constantly seeking freedom and only finding loneliness and thus turning back to people again and again, however he can’t STAND being told what to do, since he desires agency in his life so desperately, Armand was turned after years and years of abuse and lack of control but such a desire for genuine love, by a man he ‘loved’ so wholly who he felt was barring his love from him, he needs control in his life, he needs a ‘master’ but he does not desire it, it does not fulfill him, he is trapped in a room but the door is unlocked! Louis was mourning his brother, he felt like an utter failure and so he’s always seeking family, seeking people he can care for, he can coddle, he can prove he is good too, but he loves people who either cannot stand coddeling and need a sense of looseness to live (Lestat) or people who grow out of coddling who prove to Louis he will always fail the people he loves (Claudia), Claudias turning, in many MANY ways mirrors lestats in that it was against her will, she was stolen from her home, and in her immortality she desires freedom but unlike Lestat does not have the agency/ form to get it, she will always be small, she will always be looked down on, even by Lestat who cannot deny how much she is just like him *taps mic* ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME!! NONE OF THEM CAN BREAK THE CYCLE!!! TO BREAK IT WOULD BE TO UNDO THE VERY FIBER OF THEIR IMMORTAL SELVES!! THE CYCLE IS THE BLOOD THEY DRINK IT IS THE HEART IN THEIR CHEST AND IT ROLLS AND ROLLS DOWN THE MOUNTAINS AND VALLEYS OF THEIR LOVE FOR EACH OTHER AND IT CAN NEVER BE STOPPED BECAUSE THEY WILL NEVER STOP LOVING EACH OTHER!!!!!!!!!!!!

[theworldsownoptimist]

Armand is already setting himself up as a Judas figure in the sense that he was a coward who failed his beloved God in a moment of weakness. It's "human" failing, one that he can admit to whilst still underlining his vulnerability. I was laughing about Louis and Armand having a Judas painting in their bedroom last month, but it makes sense that it would be so prominent because that's the narrative that's dominated their marriage. But when you start to look at the story being presented to us (and with prior knowledge from the books) it quickly falls apart.

He didn't read the minds of the coven because he was distracted, but he'd know if Claudia and Louis eavesdropped on his conversation with Madeleine. Santiago is plotting right in front of him and doing a bad job of hiding it, but he doesn't notice despite picking up on Claudia laughing. He feared the coven would kill him even though we've already seen him knock them all out without breaking a sweat. He's not present at Madeleine's turning because he disproves, but this is also a convenient way to cover his own back. He claims to need protection from Daniel and his questions after we watched him throw him around like a ragdoll in last week's flashback. All of the excuses he gives go back to emphasising his self-described weakness. He's just a poor, unworthy disciple who made an awful mistake he has to atone for. The elephant in the room isn't that Armand is a Judas figure, but that he was far too involved and far too powerful to convincingly inhabit that role.

[thefluffyrailway-official]

𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲'𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. (𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲)

[TW: SENSITIVE CONTENT]

Santiago Shore, or how every engine knew him, Salty, was a friendly and experienced dockside diesel, who works at the Brendam Docks in the Island of Sodor.

"He doesn't shut up even under water " Could be the first phrase his workmate, Cranky, would describe him. And he wouldn't be wrong! Because it's true that this unusually nice diesel engine loves to talk and tell stories about the sea.

But what i'm gonna tell you now, is about the day all that cheerful (and sometimes annoying) talking turned into a cold (And mysterious) silence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Even though it was very rare that Salty didn't like to do a job, there was something he hated with all his soul. But still, he had to do sometimes.

That morning, Sir Topham Hatt arrived at the docks for an special job for the garnet engine.

-You must go to the Dieselworks deliver spare parts there Salty.- He ordered.

The golden-eyed diesel felt a chill running through his metalic body. He hated going to the dieselworks. (Or any place without sea nearby)

-Wait wait... Me? Couldn't Porter go instead of me? There's many work to do here- He stuttered.

The short man in the suit nodded. -You're right. And Porter will do it for you untill you're back- He said. -Now. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll come back here.-

Salty nodded with a little roll of his eyes, while the turquoise steamie behind him let out a little giggle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soon, he was coupled to the trucks full of pieces. And in an hour or less, he arrived to that imponent and kinda scary place that was the Dieselworks.

Since that moment he heard a crow's cry, Salty felt something wrong with that place.

-Alright...- He cleaned his throat -Now i just have to talk with D-Diesel 10... And i can go back to my shed...- He whispered in fear. The simple thought of that enormous golden beast was enough to make any engine shiver and maybe think twice before doing or saying anything.

He went into that dark garage-like place, and only his younger brother, Bert, was there.

They weren't what we can say close brothers. They even tried to not talk to eachother. But this time, Bert broke that brotherly rule they had.

-Hey Wet Wheels! Have you seen Diesel 10?- He asked with a slightly arrogant tone.

-What do you mean? Isn't he here?- Salty asked back trying to not look annoyed by the younger's attitude.

-Are you stupid or did sea salt rot your brain? If i ask you is because he's not here!- Bert growled.

-Yo, cool up your engine rusty brain.- Salty grinned. -I just came to deliver this spare parts. Fighting is only weekends for me-

The younger diesel rolled his eyes.

-Well now that you're here why don't you do something useful and try to find Diesel 10? You can't leave without telling him about your delivery- He hissed before leaving.

-Fiiiine. Just don't try to take the credits if I find him...Stupid...- Salty replied.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But the truth was, not only Diesel 10 dissapeared. Splatter and Dodge did too.

They were having... A little conversation in a hidden cave.

-What?! You're crazy Diesel 10- The lilac diesel protested -First you make me kill your rival's pups and now this?!-

His lime-green twin approached to his side and placed one of his paws on his bufferbeam.

-We are not gonna follow your orders anymore! What you're doing is wrong!- Said Dodge.

Diesel 10 was sitting in front of them. A sinister shadow covered half of his face.

-Oh you're not?- He asked with his usual soft tone.

The twins shared a nervous gaze for a second before answering.

-N-No.... We won't...- Splatter nodded. -Now let us go! Before we decide to tell Sir Topham Hatt about what you planned to do to his railway!- Dodge hissed.

Diesel 10 stood up and slowly approached to them.

-Of course i will let you go... -He started. -Go with Lady's pup i mean-

The huge golden male grabbed Dodge tightly by his neck in an almost invisible movement... He began to tear at Diesel 10's strong gray legs, without success in being freed.

As soon as he reacted, Splatter jumped into Diesel 10, digging his jaws into the blue-eyed male's biceps. Although this one got rid of the lilac with a blow of his paw.

Dodge's face was starting to look blue from the lack of oxygen. Seeing this, Diesel 10 relaxed his paws, believing that they had learned their lesson.

Taking advantage of this moment, and that the large male's belly was unprotected, the greenish diesel took the opportunity to tear it with his hind legs, getting 10 to let go.

-Ugh! You will regret this!! -He hissed while cleaning that oily dark blood of his belly.

Dodge turned, ready to escape. But the blue-eyed attacked again. This time tearing off much of the meat from his neck.

-BROTHER!!!- Cried Splatter.

The greenish diesel fell... Staining the ground with his blood...

The golden engine pushed the dying diesel's head with its paw, slightly scratching its side.

-Last words? -Diesel 10 whispered

Dodge remained silent for a few moments. Only his heavy breathing was audible.

Suddenly, his gaze was fixed on the entrance to the cave.

-T...Take care... Of Diesel...-

He whimpered with a smile as he slowly closed his eyes... Letting his head fall against the ground... Just before his breathing and his life went out...

-Of course I will take care of him... So well that he will never know about this.- D10 grinned

Splatter cried next to the body of his older twin brother.

He felt like his heart was breaking into a thousand pieces... His workmate... His best friend... His brother... The one who was always there in that misery of life that they both had... He was no longer with him...

-And about you... -The blue-eyed growled interrupting the brothers' goodbye.

The lilac diesel turned to look at him. With his eyes completely filled with tears.

-I'll make sure you don't rebel against me too...- Diesel 10's tail rose imposingly, showing the sting that, years ago, he would have used as a lethal injection to calm the suffering of the engines incapable of being saved, was now a deadly and poisonous torture.

In seconds he nailed it to the shoulder of the defenseless and paralyzed Lilac Diesel...Causing him to fall into a series of seizures and spasms almost instantly...

Foam came out in large quantities from the mouth of the dying engine...His eyes rolled to his rear as his back arched...

Luckilly for him....

Diesel 10 didn't notice Salty right behind the cave's entrance...

He saw... Everything...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

«I must get out of here... I must...» Salty backed away carefully...

But its pistons squeaked inopportunely. Causing Diesel 10 to see him there, standing with his eyes fixed like a deer about to be run over.

Diesel 10 frowned silently. Then he moved on to the garnet diesel, and when he was close enough he told him...

-You're lucky to be important to Mavis... But don't get overconfident and tell this to anyone... Or your blood will be the new fuel for diesels...-

Salty froze. Staring at Dodge's corpse, and Splatter's painful gaze. Staring at him intently... As if even in his last moments he was begging for help...

Diesel 10 left the place. Although, he returned soon with a truck with purple and green wheels. carrying a saw in his mouth.

-Go back to the docks boy. You've seen enough...- Diesel 10 growled as he approached to the twins and grabbed one of their legs...

...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(AU inspo creds: @steam-beasts <3)

[soulofapatrick]

Party Favours - Raphael Santiago x female reader 

Summary: One of Magnus’ parties leads to the unexpected 

Words: 1.8k 

Warnings: beginnings of a panic attack 

Y/N’s POV

Alec’s dragging me through the door of Magnus’ apartment, his grip firm but gentle, drawing a sigh of resignation from me. I don’t put up much of a fight, not because I particularly enjoy parties, but because I love Alec so much. 

He’s always been there for me, a constant presence in my life. Two years older than me, he’s not just a brother figure, but also a father figure in many ways. His protective instincts kick in whenever he senses my hesitation or reluctance. 

I squeeze his hand in reassurance, offering a small smile as we step into the vibrant chaos of the loft. The music pounds in my ears, the chatter of voices blending into a dizzying hum. Downwards and Shadowhunters mingle together, their differences monetarily forgotten in the revelry. 

Alec leads me further into the room, his expression a mixture of determination and excitement. I follow along dutifully, trusting him to guide me through the sea of unfamiliar faces and overwhelming sensations. Despite  my reservations, there's a part of me that's grateful for Alec's insistence. He knows how much these gatherings mean to Magnus, how important it is for us to show our support for him.

We weave through the crowd, catching glimpses of familiar faces – Izzy's infectious laughter, Jace's cocky grin, Magnus' sparkling eyes. They all seem to be in their element, revelling in the festivities with a sense of abandon I can't quite muster. But, Alec is by my side, his presence a grounding force amidst the chaos. And for that, I am grateful. With him beside me, I know I can face whatever the night may bring, even if it means stepping out of my comfort zone. 

As we navigate through the crowd, Magnus slinks over with the grace of a cat, his eyes alight with mischief as he greets us. His magnetic presence draws attention wherever he goes, and tonight is no exception. 

“Ah Alec, my dear boy,” Magnus purrs, his voice laced with amusement, “Might I steal you away for a moment? There's someone I simply must introduce you to.”

Alec glances at me, silently seeking my approval. I offer him a reassuring smile, nodding my consent. Magnus and Alec share a unique bond, one that transcends mere friendship, and I would never dream of standing in the way of that.

“Of course , Magnus," Alec replies, turning to me with a gentle squeeze of my hand. "I'll be back soon.”

As Magnus leads Alec away with a flourish, a pang of loneliness tugs at my heart. I watch them disappear into the crowd, feeling a twinge of envy for the easy camaraderie they share. But I quickly push aside those feelings, reminding myself that Alec deserves to enjoy himself, especially in the company of someone as captivating as Magnus.

Alone now, I shift uncomfortably in the too-short dress Izzy insisted I wear. The fabric clings to my skin like a second layer, its tightness making each breath feel constricted. The pulsating energy of the party presses in on me from all sides, overwhelming my senses with a cacophony of noise and movement. 

As the minutes tick by, the intensity of the crowd becomes almost suffocating. Conversations blend into an indistinguishable buzz, laughter rings in my ears like chimes in a storm, and the kaleidoscope of colours and faces whirl around me in a dizzying blur.

Panic begins to gnaw at the edges of my consciousness, a cold knot of fear tightening in my chest. I feel like I'm drowning in the sea of people, struggling to keep my head above water as I desperately search for an escape. With trembling hands, I push my way through the throng, each step feeling like an uphill battle against the tide of bodies. My heart pounds in my chest, a frantic rhythm matching the pulse of the music that reverberates through the loft. 

Just when I feel like I can’t take another moment of the overwhelming chaos, an icy grip clamps around my wrist, drawing me sharply from the crowd and into the hallways with lightning speed. Instinctively, I try to wrench my hand free, my heart hammering in my chest as I spin around to confront my captor. 

But before I can even form a coherent thought, I find myself face to face with Raphael Santiago, his dark eyes searching my face with an intensity that takes my breath away. Relief floods through me like a tidal wave, washing away the fear and panic that had threatened to consume me only moments before. 

“Raphael,” I gasp, my voice barely more than a whisper as I practically collapse into his solid chest, seeking refuge in the safety of his embrace. 

His arms wrap around me instinctively, holding me close as if to shield me from the chaos of the world outside. For a long moment we stand there together in the quiet stillness of the hallway, the only sound the slightly muffled thumping music in the next room. 

Feeling a sense of calm wash over me in Raphael's embrace, I let out a shaky breath, allowing myself to relax for the first time since arriving at the party. With his steady presence by my side, the overwhelming panic begins to ebb away, replaced by a warmth that spreads through me like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

As the tension slowly melts away, Raphael gently guides me towards the spare room I had been heading towards earlier. With each step, I feel a sense of gratitude welling up inside me, grateful for his unwavering support and understanding. 

But as we step into the dimly lit room, my cheeks flush with embarrassment when I catch sight of myself in the mirror. The black dress Izzy had insisted I wear barely reaches past my ass, leaving little to the imagination, while the plunging neckline barely covers my cleavage. Paired with the knee-high boots that add a significant amount of height to my frame, I can't help but feel exposed and vulnerable. 

I tug self-consciously at the hem of the dress, trying in vain to cover a little more skin. I can feel Raphael’s eyes on me, his gaze warm with amusement as he takes in my discomfort.

“You look beautiful Birdie,” He murmurs, using the nickname he gave me the first time he met me, his voice soft but sincere as he steps up behind me, eyes meeting mine in the reflection of the mirror. 

His hands cold as ice, settle on my hips, their touch sending a shockwave of awareness through me. There’s an eerie chill to his fingertips, a stark reminder of his undead nature, as they trace delicate patterns on my skin. When his lips press against my jugular, there’s no warmth, only what should be the unsettling sensation of death brushing against my skin but it’s Raphael. My pulse jumps beneath his touch, his lips curving into a smirk against my neck. 

Flushed with heat, I feel a rush of flustered embarrassment washing over me. It’s not just Raphael’s proximity that sets my heart racing, but the realisation of the feelings I've harboured for him for so long. Despite the impossibility of it all, the boundaries that separate our worlds, I've never been able to shake the ache in my chest whenever he's near. Shadowhunters can’t date downworlders and the law is the law but sometimes laws have to be broken. Izzy’s been sleeping with Meliorn…

As I stand there, lost in the intensity of Raphael's gaze, my thoughts drift to Alec and Magnus, two souls who could be so happy together if not for the unjust laws that govern our world. The bitterness of the truth sends a surge of frustration through me, and before I can stop myself, the words spill out. 

“Fuck this…” I mutter, my voice laced with defiance as I spin around in Raphael's grip, determination burning in my eyes. 

Before he can react, I grab his face with both hands, pulling him into a kiss I've wanted for so long. His initial surprise is evident, his body stiffening for a moment before melting into the kiss with a raw, unbridled passion. For a moment, time seems to stand still as our lips meet, the world fading away around us as we lose ourselves in the heat of the moment. His kiss is electrifying, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through me as I lose myself in the sensation of his touch.

Suddenly, I feel myself falling, the sensation of weightlessness overwhelming me as I land on the bed with a soft thud. Raphael hovers over me, his eyes dark with desire as he leans down to capture my lips once more. His kiss is fierce and possessive, a silent declaration of the longing we've both denied for so long. In that moment, as our bodies entwine in a tangle of limbs and desire, I know that there's no turning back. 

As our lips remain locked in a fervent embrace, Raphael's kiss becomes a whirlwind of passion and longing. Every brush of his lips against mine sends sparks flying, igniting a fire within me that I never knew existed. But just as I feel myself becoming lost in the intensity of the moment, he breaks the kiss, allowing me to catch my breath.

I inhale deeply, the rush of air filling my lungs as I stare up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. His eyes, dark with desire, bore into mine with an intensity that steals my breath away. And in that moment, as our bodies remain entwined on the bed, I realise just how long he's been waiting for this.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long," he whispers, his voice husky with emotion. "But I needed to wait for you to make the first move.”

His words hang in the air between us, heavy with meaning and unspoken desire. In the silence that follows, I feel a surge of warmth spreading through me, knowing that he's waited for me all this time, just as I've waited for him.

With a shaky breath, I reach up to trace the contours of his face, my fingers trembling with anticipation. His gaze softens at my touch, a flicker of tenderness in his eyes as he leans down to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. 

“Better late than never.”

The Shadowhunters Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[creative-heart]

"In the arms of love"| Enzo Vogrincic

Lucia’s notes: This One Shot was fueled by my lovely @lastflowrr who said she heard the song “Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby” by Cigarettes after sex and wanted to see it in writing. So here goes nothing. I hope you enjoy it, especially my girl Lucy. I also suggest you listen to the song while reading this. 😘😘

+18 MDNI: Please stop reading after the cut if you don't want to read the smut part.

Content Warning: Mention of past relationship trauma, Sex scene, a short mention of heavy social drinking, some degrading name calling.

Word Count: 1.2k

Enzo knew from the moment you two got together for the first time, that getting you to overcome your fears and traumas wouldn’t be easy and he had been trying for the past three years to help you get past what you had lived through. The dark-haired man had to admit, that he liked the little dynamic you had established for yourselves, he didn’t mind being a little bit of a dominant person when it came to you and apparently, it helped you stay centered.

When he saw the way you were drinking at the party in Mati’s house, he knew he needed to tread lightly with you or it could go southways. So he approaches you from behind wrapping his long arms around the middle of your body and whispers “Be careful now baby girl, if you get too drunk I won’t be able to fuck you when we get back, and then I will have to punish you won’t I?” and as soon as you hear those words coming from his lips you can feel your skin filling up with goosebumps, and even through the fog of your brain courtesy of the alcohol you’ve consumed already you are now burning with the anticipation his words brought into the mix. You know full well that Enzo means what he said and so you nod softly before turning around and looking up into his now dark brown eyes biting your lips “I’ll be good, I promise”. The only problem with this is, that you kind of enjoy it when he punishes you because you know he would never actually hurt you, as he’s repeated to you tirelessly, nothing’s gonna hurt you, as long as you’re with him, you’ll be just fine; you know this is true, you trust this man with your life.

When you walk away from his embrace, you’ve already devised a plan for how you will push his buttons and test how serious he is about the punishing part. The first step of this plan is locating the guy you know is going to drive him the craziest you flirt with; you slowly scan the room until you find your target, sweet Santi is sitting on the couch having a beer and you make your way to him, your hips swaying honestly a little more than they should, you sit down next to him your leg crossed in a way your knees are brushing slightly. “Hi Santi, did you do something different to your hair? it looks exceptionally good tonight” You smile playfully playing with his blonde curls. You can already see two things happening, first, Santiago’s already blushing like crazy, and second, you can feel Enzo’s glare drilling into you from across the room.

Of course, it doesn’t take more than 5 minutes for your boyfriend to make his way to you and bend down to talk to you at a volume he knows no one else will hear above the blasting music “What did I say about behaving baby? now we’re gonna have to go home and I’ll have to do something about this” You can already hear the lust filling his voice and you can’t help but bite your lip looking up at him, you can’t help it, you love being a bit of a brat sometimes. Even if you know this may come at a price.

As soon as you walk into the apartment your back is against the wall and your hands are up and out of the way held by one of Enzo’s big hands, the other resting on your hips squeezing just enough to make you feel it. “You enjoy making me jealous by flirting with my friends, don’t you princess?” It’s the tone of his voice matched with the sweetness of the pet names he uses which makes you weak at the knees, your breath hitching at the back of your throat as you nod softly looking at him through your lashes. “No no, use your words, baby girl, you know I like hearing your voice”. Just as you’re about to talk back you feel his right knee pressed up gently against your center and through your opened mouth instead of words comes a whiny, needy moan, your eyes fluttering closed. Just as your eyelids close you feel the grip of his hand on your hip tightening and you know that  to be your final warning so you force the words out of your mouth “Yes Enzo, I enjoy it” you say barely above a whisper. 

Just as you finish saying that Enzo picks you up tossing you firmly yet gently over his shoulder walking straight to your bedroom “well then�� I guess that means there’s no orgasm for you tonight then, that’s what you get for being a little slut” He puts you down on the bed taking your clothes off before folding them neatly on the chair beside your bed. “Come on babyyy” you whine aching for some release between your legs, when he catches you  through the corner of his eye he turns his head clicking his tongue admonishingly shaking his head. Once you’re both in your underwear he grabs your legs behind your knees bringing you to the edge of the bed and without breaking eye contact with you kneels down between your legs “now… you know not to flirt with my friends, it’s not respectful to me” he says in his low sultry voice in between kisses up your inner thighs just before depositing the last one right on your already pulsating nub. When you feel his mouth making contact with your already slick aching center you close your eyes a loud moan flowing from your lip before you can even stop it digging your nails on the heels of your hands leaving crescent shapes on them knowing better than to tug at your boyfriend’s hair.

Enzo might enjoy this a little bit too much if he’s honest with himself, but there’s something about having you like that, laying on the bed and at the mercy of his skillful fingers and mouth begging for some release that just drives him crazy. He’s been at this for almost an hour now, his fingers moving in and out of your dripping center which so lusciously tightens around them as he accompanies each thrust of his digits with alternating sucking and lapping at your throbbing core and once more when he feels your breath hitching in the back of your throat and you trying to move your hips into him trying to look some release and pulls away before you can get the so coveted release you so much desire. As he gets back up to his full height he looks at you seeing how distraught you look and smiles softly “Come on babygirl, let’s get you into the shower, a nice warm soothing shower to get you better”.

Before you can protest he’s disappeared into the bathroom running the water, once  he’s back by the bed Enzo  picks you up in his arms cradling you against his chest and walks to the shower standing under the water gently placing you down as he proceeds to wash your hair and body making sure to give you a soothing massage until he feels you relax under his touch. It's become a habit now, after one of these sessions of yours, he likes taking care and pampering you, he knows sometimes he can get a bit taken away in the situation and more than anything, he wants you to remember nothing’s gonna hurt you as long as you’re with him.

Lucia's notes: I relly hope you enjoyed this little one shot, as usual, reqs are still open for a bit longer until I get in the mood to start my new series.

Taglist: @madame-fear @cyliarys-starlight @castawaycherry @luceracastro @espinasrubi @koiibiito @candycanes19 @nperoconelcositoarriba @lxdyred @deepinsideyourbeing

[the-little-ewok]

I've never done a request before! Could you do tummy kisses with a plus size reader? I'm always down for nsfw but you decide where it goes! Please and thank you 😁

- @mandinlore

Every inch of you

Santiago Garcia X Plus size F!Reader

Rating : E / 18+

Word count : 2300 (ish)

Warnings : Reader is plus size, Explicit, Oral (f- receiving), lack of body confidence, insecurities, love bites, one actual bite, quick fingering, soft Santi being soft. And I do mean soft. (Yea it's cliché. I have no regrets)

Prompt/Summary : Tummy kisses/ Santiago helps show you how perfect you are

A/N : Keep the prompts short, she says, ease yourself back into writing she says…. Hahahaha enjoy your 2k ;) I got carried away. @mandinlore

Also thank you for requesting plus size! As a curvy girl myself, I absolutely loved writing this!

Side note - if anyone (who has prompts outstanding or wants to send new requests) wants a specific reader (plus size, short girl, specific job etc) please don't feel shy about asking! I'll do my best to write it!

"Cariño, you gotta tell me what's wrong? We can take things slow if that's what you want. You already know you're in control here. But, is something else wrong?" Santi sighs, sitting back on the couch after you pushed him away, yet again, before things could go too far. You couldn't blame his reaction, not after you had been hot and cold for weeks now.

Everytime he had tried to take things further, into anything that involves you removing clothing, you had made excuses to stop. He'd always backed off without complaint, reassuring you that he'll wait until you're ready, but you know he's starting to suspect there's more that you're hiding. God damn over observant Santiago Garcia. His military training served him too well in that.

The truth was, it wasn't that you didn't want things to go too far. In fact, you wanted very much to have his body pressed up against yours, his mouth against your skin, his cock buried deep inside you.

But for that to happen he had to see your body. And that was what scared you the most.

"Hey." His voice, and his fingers gripping your chin, turning your face to force you to look at him, rips you from your thoughts.

Meeting his questioning gaze you're struck, and not for the first time, by how pretty he is. Especially now — hair tousled by your fingers, eyes bright with lust, lips kiss swollen, cheeks flushed.

It makes you want to drag him back down onto the couch and lose yourself in his kisses once more.

"Tell me where your head is at," he pleads, his gaze soft. "Whatever it is, we can talk about it.

"I don't want to take it slow," you whisper, swallowing hard, sliding your vision away from him, even as he holds your face. You focus your eyes on the coffee table, the empty glasses and half eaten snacks, the movie still playing quietly in the background. You had stopped watching some time ago when you caught him watching you more than the film.

"There's a but coming, right?" Santi prompts when you lapse into silence.

"It's just…"

It's just I don't want you to be disappointed.

It's just I don't look like your exes.

It's just I don't think you'll want me.

You trail off, struggling to find the words to explain your fears.

"It's just, what?" Santi presses, his tone still gentle as ever.

"Idontwantyoutoseeme," you mumble out quickly, flicking your eyes back to him for a split second before you look away again.

Santi lets out a sigh, although it's not one of impatience, or disappointment. It sounds more like he might be… relieved.

"That's what you're worried about? Jesus, you scared me." He gives a small chuckle, shaking his head as he takes your face in both his hands, which forces your gaze back to his. For a long moment, he studies you, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"You are beautiful," he states simply before his hands drop to your waist and he shifts, leaning over you and guiding you back to lie down against the couch, once more taking up his position over you, nestling himself between your thighs.

"Have you noticed what you do to me?" He asks, hammering home his point by pressing the bulge in his pants up against your core, making you gasp, despite the anxiety coiled tight in your stomach.

"With my clothes on maybe," you mumble, unable to quiet the vicious thoughts still seeping through.

"I want to see you. I want to see all of you. You don't have to hide from me," he whispers against the shell of your ear, dipping his head to place a trail of kisses down your neck.

"I don't think you'll like what you see." Even as the fear builds you can't stop the moan that steals its way from your lips as he seals his lips against your neck, sucking a mark there.

"Can I be the judge of that?" He asks, leaning up on his arms to look at you. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." Your response comes with no hesitation. You don't even have to think about it. You do, wholeheartedly, entirely, trust him. He's done more than enough to earn that trust from you.

"I'm not going to force you into anything you don't want to do, but please trust me when I say I will love every inch of you."

The sincerity in his voice makes tears prick your eyes.

You swallow hard, still arguing with the voice in the back of your mind that tells you you aren't good enough for him, that he won't want you.

Santiago waits patiently while you muddle through your thoughts.

After a long moment, what feels like a millennia of debating, you give him a nod, and watch his smile transform into one of absolute pride.

"If you're uncomfortable at any time, stop me, okay?" He requests, and you nod again, not trusting your voice not to waiver if you answered.

He captures your lips once more in a long, slow, passionate kiss. His tongue mapping out every corner of your mouth, sliding along yours, his teeth nipping at your lower lip, keeping you breathless.

This time when his hands begin to tug the hem of your shirt up, you don't stop him.

He unpeels each layer of your clothes carefully, waiting for you to relax before he moves on to the next, almost maddeningly slow in his actions. Still, you appreciate his patience.

When you're finally fully bared, what feels like an age later, he sits back, dropping your panties to the floor as his eyes roam the flesh laid out before him.

You feel sick, dizzy with anxiety, waiting for him to realise how bad you look, how much he doesn't want you, to make excuses for you to leave.

Santiago does none of those things.

Instead, he lets out a low groan.

"Shit, you are incredible."

You could almost think he was lying, just to make you feel better, but as you look up at him, his eyes hooded, pupils blown wide, licking his lips like you were a meal he's been waiting all day for, you could actually kid yourself into believing him.

You squirm under his unwavering gaze, your hands automatically going to cover your stomach, twisting away from him.

Santi`s eyebrows pull together in a deep frown, shaking his head.

"Don't do that. Don't ever do that again. Not with me," he scolds you softly as he pries your hands away from your body, pinning them down to the couch.

Leaning over you he captures your lips, his kisses tender and loving. His hands wander your body slowly, mapping each curve as he grinds himself against your core. Each slow roll of his hips pushes the zipper of his jeans up against your clit, drawing muffled moans from your lips. Each sound you make he swallows as though they were a vintage wine, something to be savoured.

"Want to make you feel good," he slurs, finally giving you a moment to breathe. "Can I make you feel good?"

Still unable to form words, you nod, probably a little too enthusiastically, causing Santi's eyes to crinkle as he grins.

"Yeah?" He confirms, moving his kisses down to your breasts, peppering them with soft brushes of his lips. "Baby gonna be good and let me kiss her all over?"

You can feel the slick wetness pooling between your legs, the heat blazing across your skin, the blood roaring in your ears, and the ever present anxiety nipping at your thoughts, a constant companion which never seems to quiet.

Well, that is until Santi bites your nipple, turning your yelp at the sharp pain, into a moan as he soothes it with his tongue.

After that, all your thoughts, good and bad, begin to get a little hazy.

"Mmmm I like that noise," he hums, lathering your other breast with the same attention, making you struggle to catch your breath with the pleasure he was already wringing from you.

As his kisses trail lower, his lips pressing against the plush of your stomach, you can't help but try to curl in on yourself, trying to hide as much as you can in the small space of the couch.

It's a pointless endeavour. Santi's mouth pays particular attention to every part you try to twist away, or subtly hide as you move your arms.

He spends an age trailing soft kisses all the way across your stomach, before working his way back to your naval, and then down, leaving tiny love bites in his wake. A trail marking you as his over all the places you hate, before he stops, head between your already trembling thighs, looking up at you.

When your eyes meet his, he grins before he dips his head, holding your gaze as he thrusts his tongue deep inside you.

Your head slams back against the arm of the couch, your eyes squeezing shut, the image of his face buried in your pussy blazing behind your eyelids. You choke back a moan as his tongue loops up around your clit, before back down to taste you again.

"Keep making noises like that and we're going to have a problem," he warns, warm breath fanning out across your already heated skin, making you squirm with the stimulation.

You have no idea what problem he's talking about, and as his tongue slides through your folds, up to circle your clit a second time, you really couldn't care less about it either.

Your back arches as you chase the warm pleasure of his mouth, a groan of his name falling from your lips. His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, holding you open for him as he feasts on your pussy like a starved man.

Curses and praises fall freely from your lips, accompanied by whimpers and moans as he expertly coaxes you closer and closer to the edge, all your anxieties silenced by the overwhelming pleasure that stops you from concentrating on anything else.

Santi groans, a noise that vibrates through your entire core, and pushes you dangerously close to the edge. When one of his hands disappears from your thigh, you can't help but open your eyes to glance down at him, your breath catching.

His eyes are closed, a look of pure bliss you haven't seen before on his face, as his tongue laps languidly at your slick cunt, while he palms his hard cock through his pants.

You throw your head back once more with a whine, unable to continue to watch him as he chooses that moment to seal his lips over your clit and suck, hard.

The vision of him, the overwhelming pleasure, the heat of his mouth, is too much, and you come undone with a strangled cry, your body trembling, and your vision going white as the pleasure crests and crashes over you.

Even through the roaring noise of blood in your ears, and the way your orgasm makes your mind fuzzy, you still catch the tail end of Santiago's gasped curse, followed by a low, broken groan. You can't help but think it sounds suspiciously like….

You don't even get to fully finish the thought before your body shudders in desire. That couldn't be the case when you haven't even touched him.

Then again the look on his face before…

When you can finally feel your limbs again you lean up on your elbows to look down your body at him, as he, somewhat awkwardly, sits back on his heels, a wet patch blooming out on his pants.

"Santi…did you…?" You swallow, trailing off as he looks somewhat abashed.

"Um, yeah," he admits, an unmistakable blush forming on his cheeks.

"Because of….me?" You ask quietly, feeling a strange sense of pride that, even as you are, you were able to do that to him.

"Oh, enjoying this, are we?" Santi laughs teasingly, relaxing a little when he sees your wide eyed surprise and the smile you're trying to bite down.

Putting his arms either side of you, he cages you in, as he runs his nose up the length of your neck. Even the lightest of touches makes your body shiver with desire.

"Maybe…a bit," you admit, a little distractedly as he places a kiss below your ear, pressing his body against yours, clearly knowing exactly what he's doing to you.

"Good," he mumbles into your skin. "Although next time I cum I want to be buried inside you."

He whispers it so sinfully low in your ear, you swear you could cum again just from his words.

Your breath catches and you can feel Santiago's smug smile against your neck, where he's still busy pressing soft kisses.

"I'm a little bit disappointed though," you manage to swallow out, trying to ignore the way his hand is skimming across your sweat damp skin, down the outside of your thigh, before slowly working its way back up.

Santi pulls back to look at you so quickly, you're surprised he doesn't put his back out.

"Disappointed?"

You can't quite tell if it's outrage or concern, that laces his tone, but whichever it is, you can't stop the laugh that bubbles up and out of your mouth, only making him frown more deeply.

"Cariño," he starts, stopping when you put a hand over his mouth to interrupt him.

"I'm disappointed I didn't get to see you."

It takes a moment for him to catch up, still clearly trying to work out what he has done wrong to disappoint you, but the moment it clicks his face transforms into a wolfish grin.

"Well, give me half an hour and I'll show you anything you want," he winks. "For now I guess I'll go back to admiring you." His eyes flicker once more down your body, surveying you like prey.

It makes your pussy clench.

"You really mean it don't you?" You whisper as he tilts his head in question. "You do like me the way I am?"

"I really mean it," he confirms seriously, "you are perfect."

He doesn't give you much time to think too hard about his confirmation, or really anything at all. Leaning back into you he captures your lips in a passionate kiss, clearly working on making you forget your own name.

You wrap one hand around the back of his neck, holding him to you as the other slips down his back to playfully squeeze his ass, drawing a low growl from the man above you.

Santiago is quick enough to get his revenge, slipping a hand between your bodies to brush his fingers against your clit.

You let out a gasp, and shudder with the over stimulation, as his fingers draw tight circles against your sensitive nub.

"You said half an hour," you practically whimper, unable to stop your hips canting up against his hand.

"For me. I didn't say you get a break." He smirks, slipping a finger into your wet heat, drawing another broken sound from you. "I want you to make those pretty sounds for me again… and again… and again."

-------------

If you enjoyed this please, please, reblog and tell me your thoughts! Reblogs and feedback are so important to content creators. It keeps us creating!

Special thank you to my patient, most lovely beta, who puts up with every smutty Santi thought that enters my brain @beldroxramscal

I no longer run a taglist. If you are 18+ please follow my blog and check the master list for updates. More fics are coming 👀

[volterran-wine]

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴀɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜꜱ: “ I don’t have anything specific in find but I need more Santiago headcanons Please -🔮”

It it always a joy to receive requests for our dear Santiago. Though his popularity has grown slightly on my blog, he is far from the most popular man in the palazzo. Though, I hope my continued peddling of piping hot Santiago content will convert the masses. I know this request took a good while to get to you dear CrystalBall!Anon, but I hope it greets you well.

!𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒! None.

𝐀𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐆𝐎

Now, where do you even begin in order to explain a vampire like Santiago in the most appropriate manner. If I were to use a single word it would be “Enigma”, it is the only one that I can fully agree with.

In a sense, he is one of the secret “weapons” among The Volturi. Not like Jane & Alec, but in the sense that very few vampires outside the coven takes him seriously besides the general respect vampires have for guards. Santiago comes off as a very friendly and jovial type, he does not particularly flaunt his smarts or expertise, because that does not benefit him in the long run. All of this to keep one thing shrouded in mystery; Santiago is a mighty good fighter. There are few ungifted vampires that can take him in hand to hand combat, the ones in the Palazzo being Felix, Caius and Marcus. In a similar vein that Afton (Santiago’s unofficial official best friend.) operates, Santiago has ensured that he almost always have the upper hand. Nobody sees an underdog coming after all.

I have previously spoken of how Vampires in my worldbuilding do not all sparkle in the traditional sense, it is more like a glow and luminescence that is uniquie to every individual depending a lot on what ethnicity and race that they are, and the paritcular strain of venom that ends up turning them. Santiago happens to glow like the most beautiful bronze statue you can imagine, with a tint of green if the light hits him correctly. It is a sight many have marvelled at. 

Santiago speaks five languages; Portuguese, Spanish, English, Italian and Latin (most of it through Caius’ cursing during drills).

At the moment he has the second most cluttered room in the palazzo, he only loses out to Alec who is eternally a thirteen year old boy in many regards. Demetri and Santiago are in fact the same level of messy but the tracker claims it is an aesthetic and blames part of it on the cats that frequent his room. Santiago is not convinced.

A fun fact is that Santiago is the only person in the coven who has an inkling of what chocolate tastes like. Import of cacao to Europe did not occur until 1500 AD or so, a time when all Volturi members had already been immortal for a good while. 

One time Santiago and Afton was sent out on a mission together to spy on a coven that opposed The Volturi to some extent. The pair were gone for quite a few days, Demetri kept reassuring his masters that the two were still well and alive despite being in the enemies camp. Two days later Santiago would return with two of the opposing covens members as recruits for the lower guard. He had managed to befriend them and had the coven stand down. Ever since he has been part of the vampires who get sent in if The Volturi has to calm a situation down peacefully when fear of exposure is imminent. 

Santiago is the fifth tallest vampire behind Felix, Afton, Marcus and Caius. Though Afton is a fair bit taller than him, he could bring the vampire to the ground with his eyes closed.

Santiago is the only coven member who has had his head ripped off and re-attached again. It was a surreal experience he is not fond of talking about. 

[nalyra-dreaming]

With Ben Daniels' comment about Louis and Armand it reminded me that in the book Santiago goes so far as to say that he liked or felt attracted to Louis

Does he now?

In the scene where he says he "likes" Louis he tries to get him to tell him Lestat's name, because he knows something is afoot.

“But then a voice came softly to me on the air, too faint for mortals: ‘How is this so? How did you wrong him?’ “I turned round so sharp that my breath left me. A vampire sat near me, so near as to almost brush my shoulder with the tip of his boot, his legs drawn up close to him, his hands clasped around them. For a moment I thought my eyes deceived me. It was the trickster vampire, whom Armand had called Santiago. “Yet nothing in his manner indicated his former self, that devilish, hateful self that I had seen, even only a few hours ago when he had reached out for me and Armand had struck him. He was staring at me over his drawn-up knees, his hair dishevelled, his mouth slack and without cunning. “ ‘It makes no difference to anyone else,’ I said to him, the fear in me subsiding. “ ‘But you said a name; I heard you say a name,’ he said. “ ‘A name I don’t want to say again,’ I answered, looking away from him. I could see now how he’d fooled me, why his shadow had not fallen over mine; he crouched in my shadow. The vision of him slithering down those stone stairs to sit behind me was slightly disturbing. Everything about him was disturbing, and I reminded myself that he could in no way be trusted. It seemed to me then that Armand, with his hypnotic power, aimed in some way for the maximum truth in presentation of himself: he had drawn out of me without words my state of mind. But this vampire was a liar. And I could feel his power, a crude, pounding power that was almost as strong as Armand’s. “ ‘You come to Paris in search of us, and then you sit alone on the stairs...’ he said, in a conciliatory tone. ‘Why don’t you come up with us? Why don’t you speak to us and talk to us of this person whose name you spoke; I know who it was, I know the name.’ “ ‘You don’t know, couldn’t know. It was a mortal,’ I said now, more from instinct than conviction. The thought of Lestat disturbed me, the thought that this creature should know of Lestat’s death. “ ‘You came here to ponder mortals, justice done to mortals?’ he asked; but there was no reproach or mockery in his tone. “ ‘I came to be alone, let me not oend you. It’s a fact,’ I murmured. “ ‘But alone in this frame of mind, when you don’t even hear my steps....I like you. I want you to come upstairs.’ And as he said this, he slowly pulled me to my feet beside him. “At that moment the door of Armand’s cell threw a long light into the passage. I heard him coming, and Santiago let me go.

That is the scene where Santiago says it. That... isn't "liking" imho. This isn't being attracted. This is trying to wheedle something out of Louis. To get the name.

And Louis knew instinctively that Santiago was a liar... and up to no good.

[prvtocol]

💭 + vaas

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓷𝓼 — send 💭 + a topic to receive a headcanon about said topic. ( accepting !! )

Vaas, the president of the Night City gang, Los Piratas, and Brianne’s extortionist. The one who pinned her in a protection racket making her pay over 80,000 eddies a month to avoid being one of the gang’s victims. She and her security would have probably gotten fast-scrolled into a gore XBD if she refused or tried anything. I have an updated hc post about her extortion so I’ll not rehash it but I don’t think I’ve actually written about their "relationship" which lasted from 2076 to 2079 when he disappears after a cyberpsychotic outburst to never be seen or heard from again.

So why does she love Vaas? It’s complicated. 😩

After months of planning, Vaas and his righthand man Santiago killed her security guard and driver and hijacked her and her vehicle after a fundraising gala, thus an effective route to ensure her willingness to pay. And in their interactions following, Vaas made sure she feared him. Her compliance, doing exactly what he wanted, was the reason the gang targeted her. A rich, pliable corpo ripe for extorting. 

Because of the key access she gave him to pick up payments, he’d be there when she’d walk in the AV door just sitting at her couch or table, cleaning his mantis blades of blood, flipping through her premium news channels and papers, or enjoying the spa, and she’d interact with him like it was normal even if she knew it wasn’t. And her being her amenable self, he started being a bit more amenable back. It wasn’t so bad. Despite reminders to not cross him, she became less wary of his presence. He could always make her laugh. His smile was infectious. Then somewhere along the way, she’d come home to an empty house and wish he was there. Perhaps it was her loneliness making itself known; his presence brought something new to a life that got monotonous. He was her company and she needed a little company, especially after being transferred away from her family in London the year before.

Folding to his sexual advances felt like a mistake. She told herself every time he got too close, to not let him any closer. She’d move his hand off her thigh, turn her face from his, and step out of his circle, but in those moments she’d feel a hitch inside. It was that of being wanted in a way unknown to her. Maybe it was the stress at work, that creeping mortal feeling that her time was up, an attraction to bad boys, or his company feeling like more than it was. It wasn’t how she imagined her first time and of course, she felt shame after. Used. Foolish. There was no gentleness. No affection. And then she thought maybe that would be it; he’d not come around anymore except for the cash because he got what he wanted all along. But that wasn’t the case. He still took whatever she would give him. This intimate part of their relationship remained, taking on its own rhythm and it became not only about his pleasure.

And she was afraid to say no to him, or the gang parties he threw at her estate, trashing the grounds. Couldn't say no to the drugs (at least the less hard ones), or to the use of her vault to store gang contraband. She tended his wounds when he showed up bloody at her door. Watched over him when he decided her place was right to binge on drugs and alcohol. Cooked his meals. Ordered takeout. Filled the fridge and bar with what he liked. Bought him things to make his stays comfortable (starting with a pair of swim trunks, an electric toothbrush, and a grooming set; he had his own sink in her bathroom). She's cleaned his apartment whenever she might find herself there and when she was stuck there in hiding after being dismissed from the corp. She is a nurturer by heart and she cared for him as if it was her job. It took her mind off of things going on at work. And he took her into the city she never got to know outside her corp buildings. He let her ride on the back of his motorcycle, unhinged from her constant strangle of security to feel some sort of ironic freedom. He’d push her to do things she never imagined, bad things like stealing a liquor bottle, but it made her feel alive. He’d supply her with drugs to sleep when nothing else worked. And he didn’t let her down when she was dismissed from Arasaka and headhunted; the gang’s protection racket saved her life.

He didn’t love her. She wasn’t considered his girlfriend. He slept with others. He was never her emotional support in a way one would assume though his company did wonders. She knew he saw her as foolish; his dumb little corpy wrapped around his finger. There was no relationship label for an extortionist and his victim. Stockholm Syndrome sure, but under these circumstances, is it any surprise that Brianne, a selfless woman with a kind heart, befriended him and came to care about him too? A man who, in her eyes, was broken.

The bandages on his fingers, the scars across his head and on his body, she’d see him broken and beaten, knew of the risks he’d put himself in, and then see him angrily recoil from a kind touch. His past remained a mystery but she knew it must be full of pain. When he rejected her gentleness, she believed he’d been hurt. She wished she could fix him by giving him what he probably never had, or perhaps did and it was taken from him.

She didn’t know about his cyberpsychosis until he was gone; always believed it was the drugs and his depression eating his mind away. He became more dependent, and she’d watched helplessly as he inhaled whatever drug before passing out on his side of the bed. Of course, if she said anything, he’d get angry and his anger was terrifying. He trashed her house many times, but he never hurt her. But when his condition got worse, she wasn’t so sure she was safe anymore.

Three years is a long time to have someone in your life. Long enough for it to become status quo. Of course, she felt stuck; the protection racket being her captor and savior from Arasaka. She feared pushing him away and holding him closer. Even if it wouldn't make a difference. Even if it made her sad and his rejection emotionally depleted, she had no choice but to accept it. He wasn't going to change for her or anybody. There was no way out of this situation.

When he disappeared from the streets (taken during a cyberpsychotic outburst), it was after not seeing him for well over a month since his condition got so bad he wouldn't visit her. It felt like a hole in her heart. The thought of him being alive somewhere, alone and in pain, his mind tearing him apart, it was so hard to bear. She would never wish him any harm, and she would save him if she could despite herself. She loved him in her own unfair way; not a romantic love, perhaps familial, or maybe something it's own thing.

[bandedbulbussnarfblat]

Surprise chapter 1

here is the first chapter of the first fic in my loumand mafia au

Here is their thing; Louis pretends not to know Armand is in the mafia, Armand pretends to let him.  

Louis sits at one end of the long mahogany table and Armand at the other.  He has his hair slicked back and dark liner around his eyes.  He has that look in his eye, like a predator that spotted a wounded gazelle.  He’s wearing  one of his crisp white shirts that he never manages to get blood on, even though Louis’ seen him slip noiselessly into the bathroom at night and wash blood from his hands in the sink.

Hands that he lets slide over his body and take him apart.  Sometimes he imagines blood smeared on him, Armand’s guilt rubbed all over him.  Only guilty in that he is guilty of a crime, because Armand feels no shame, no remorse.  So Louis is left to feel it instead. 

“I don’t revel in violence,” Armand has often said, “but sometimes it’s necessary, my dear.”

“I don’t like it in the house,” he blurted one day at dinner after Armand came in from his office, cheeks flushed with color.  He had that cold, dispassionate look in his eye he got when he took a life.  

Armand blinked at him and said “What?”

“The killing,” Louis said, “I don’t like it in the house.”

“You want me to stop killing in the house.”

“Yes.”

Armand had tilted his head and looked at Louis for a long moment, then said “As you wish.”

And from that day on there had been no killing inside the house, though sometimes people were taken into the yard.  Now, that dangerous look is turned on him and while Louis knows Armand would never hurt him, fighting with him is a special kind of psychological warfare.  He hunches in on himself under Armand’s gaze.  

He says nothing.  This is what he does, in the wake of Armand’s anger; he withdrawals and goes silent.  Louis closes himself off and waits for Armand to pry him open when his anger has faded to a softer thing.  Armand can be as bitterly silent in turn, and they could have long, icy silences that lasted weeks before one of them would break.

Louis pushes his food around his plate and Armand glances down sharply.  “Louis, have you eaten today?”

Louis can’t remember.  He doesn’t think so.  “I had a cup of coffee this morning.”

“Eat your food, then we’ll talk.”  Armand’s using his listen-to-me voice, the one he usually reserves for the bedroom.  It irritates Louis, for Armand to think he can just seduce him into listening.  

“I’m not hungry,” Louis says and Armand’s fingers drum against the table.

“I didn’t ask if you were hungry, Louis.  I told you to eat,” Armand’s voice is cold and utterly indifferent.

Sometimes, when Louis gets in a funk, he forgets to eat.  He just doesn’t get hungry, so he doesn’t bother to eat.  So Armand makes sure he gets three square meals a day, usually by having a Chef on hand to prepare something.  At least, until Louis told him he didn’t like it, some person just in their home all the time.  Now he prepares breakfast and lunch for the next day and puts them in the refrigerator.  

“Can we just skip to the part where you tell me I made you look bad, or something?”

Armand sighs gently.  “You are my husband; you may ask for anything at any time.”

Louis frowns.  “You’re not supposed to kill them in the house.”

Armand’s fingers drum on the table again, the only sign of his impatience.  His expression is impenetrable.  “We were outside, darling.”

Technically, they were outside.  But the backdoor was open and Louis could see the man down on his knees, could see the fear in his eyes.  He felt sorry for him, is all.  So he had shouted stop, after Armand issued the order to shoot.  It was Santiago and Eleni, and Santiago had never liked Louis.  Louis had confronted Armand about it after they were married; didn’t he know Santiago was in love with him?  

Of course, Armand knew.  He explained that it made Santiago unflinchingly loyal. Louis had said he didn’t like it, so Armand had offered to kill Santiago, if it would please Louis.  And Louis hadn’t wanted all that, but he found himself satisfied that Armand should offer.  

Eleni had been the one to hesitate and shout out “Boss?”

Armand had ordered them to stop and both had, though it was a close thing for Santiago.  Armand had let the man live, though the look he sent Louis’ way let Louis know he was in trouble.

Louis says nothing.  Armand watches him for a long moment, doing nothing to break the silence.  Louis realizes he’s waiting for him to eat.  He takes a small bite of pasta.  Chews.  Swallows.  His stomach turns.  

“I hope you understand, Louis, that you only prolonged the inevitable,” Armand says, and his voice is like silk.  “You spared a man’s life today, but the first man to call me soft for it will have to be made an example of.”

Louis jerks his head up and looks at Armand.  “No one would say you’re soft.  They’re too scared of you.”

Armand smiles slightly.  “That’s because I’m scary.”

Right.  And sparing a man’s life on the whim of his husband wasn’t scary.  “You could have just killed him anyway.”

“Have I ever denied you anything, my dear?”

He hasn’t, is the thing.  Armand gives him whatever he asks for.  Louis doesn’t want to argue with him.  “...I won’t ask again, that what you want to hear?”

His tone sounds petulant even to his own ears.  Louis wishes he hadn’t bothered to interfere.  He and Armand wouldn’t be having this conversation

“I have things to work on,” Armand says, rising from his seat.  “Come see in my office when you’ve finished your food.”

Armand crosses the distance between them and presses a kiss to Louis’ forehead.  It’s a reassuring gesture, one he didn’t have to do.  His office is the other direction, so he’s gone out of his way to show Louis affection.  It likely means he’s already over the earlier infraction.  

Louis tips his head up in silent request for a proper kiss.  Armand kisses him, chaste and proper, until he slips his tongue along Louis’ bottom lip and Louis gasps.  Then he slides his tongue into his mouth and kisses him till he’s delirious.  

Louis chases his mouth when he pulls back, but Armand presses a hand on his shoulder and holds him in his seat.  “Eat first, then my office.”

Then he bends so his mouth is near Louis’ ear and whispers something filthy in Italian.  He’s been paying for Louis to take lessons, as if being fluent in two languages isn’t enough already.  Louis only knows that it’s filthy because Armand has that tone.  Armand brushes a kiss against his throat and backs away.

“Armand, I don’t know what that means.”

Armand smirks at him.  “Then it will be a surprise.”

Louis likes surprises.

[court-mills]

{ DAMIAN HARDUNG, 21, DEMI-BOY, HE/THEY } Is that COURTNEY MILLS ? A JUNIOR  originally from CHARLESTON, SC, they decided to come to Ogden College to study PRE-MED on an ACADEMIC SCHOLARSHIP. They’re THE  HIMBO on campus, but even they could get blamed for Greer’s disappearance.

THE ESSENTIALS

TBD

CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS

seth capella (zodiac academy) - scott russell (cruel intentions [2024]) - chris traeger (parks and rec) - elle woods (legally blonde) - finnick odair (the hunger games) - aaron samuels (mean girls) - troy bolton (high school musical) - finn hudson (glee) - jeremiah fisher (the summer i turned pretty) - wally clark (school spirits) - amy santiago (brooklyn 99) - seth cohen (the oc)

TV TROPES

THE HIMBO, book smart, ditzy genius, endearingly dorky, lovable jock, dumb muscle, beautiful all along, in with the in crowd, more TBD

OGDEN COLLEGE 2023-2024

MAJOR:

Pre-Med with a Gender and Sexuality Studies Minor

EXTRACURRICULARS:

Lacrosse (Defenseman), Sailing Queer Alliance, Pre-Med Society

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Courtney Rhys Mills

NICKNAME(S): Court, Coco

DATE OF BIRTH: May 29, 2002

AGE: twenty-one

ZODIAC SIGN: gemini sun, leo moon, libra rising, taurus mercury, cancer venus, gemini mars

OCCUPATION: ogden college student

HOMETOWN: charleston, sc

NATIONALITY: american

ETHNICITY: white

LANGUAGE(S): english

GENDER & PRONOUNS: demi-boy, he/they (typically does use he/him pronouns to minimize people’s confusion around the lack of understanding of the fact that gender isn’t a binary, but uses they/them as well…potentially would prefer them if he wasn’t an overwhelmingly anxious people pleaser) 

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: pansexual

PHYSICAL INFORMATION

FACE CLAIM: Damian Hardung

HEIGHT: 5'11”

EYE COLOR: light blue

HAIR COLOR + STYLE: light brown/dirty blonde, swoopy over his forehead

ACCENT + INTENSITY: very, very slight southern drawl

TATTOO(S): none

SCAR(S): TBD

PIERCING(S): one pierced ear, thanks to link 

GLASSES: yes

CLOTHING STYLE: TBD

PERSONALITY

MBTI TYPE: TBD

POSITIVE TRAITS: extroverted, sociable, clever, practical, determined, goofy, determined, intuitive

NEGATIVE TRAITS: scattered, flighty, indecisive, two-faced, over-sensitive, inconsistent, closed-off, judgmental

SKILLS: solving a rubik’s cube in about 10 seconds, can tie essentially any type of knot that exists, doing a standing back tuck (he does celebrate the rare goal as a defenseman in lacrosse this way)

GOALS/DESIRES: TBD

FEARS: TBD

HOBBIES: TBD

HABITS: TBD

SMOKES? yes, weed at least

DRINKS? yes

DRUGS? yes - he injured his knee last year and has been lowkey using opiates to help him deal with it because he can’t be kicked off the lacrosse team and lose his athletic scholarship. he completely downplayed the injury at the time, and has been consistently trying to hide the lasting affects - before that, he wasn’t much of a hard drug user.

PLEASE EXPAND ON HOW THEY EMBODY THEIR CHARACTER TROPE: THE HIMBO

Court is extremely smart. He’s pre-med, after all, and fully intends to go into a branch of medicine where he can focus on helping people who - like he had - struggle with their gender identity. He’s intelligent, motivated, and has lofty goals - a lot of people just don’t see it at first. He’s got the blue eyes, the pretty face, the easy laugh, and gentle voice, and people see the whole package, and the way he goofs around, and assume he’s not the brightest. It’s fair, honestly - he does have his ditzy moments. And he definitely does lack a little common sense and can come off like an idiot at first, just because he’s so not worried about coming off smart, or proving anything to anyone, and just wants to enjoy himself. But once people start to get to know him a little more, they realize there’s a lot more under the surface. Even if the surface is that pretty. 

expanded personality tbd

CONNECTIONS

connection page tbd

RELATIONSHIP TO GREER: NEW FRIEND

Two years ago, when Court showed up as a freshman, his newly developed looks and the confidence that went along with them found him blending right into the popular clique. While he was aware that these were the very people who would’ve ignored him in high school, he couldn’t help but go along with it with the slightest sense of awe. Maybe because he is friendly with both Kit and Jesse, he never had anything but positive interactions with Greer, the two blondes actually getting along extremely well. They often goofed off together, Court definitely someone that could bring out her more easy going side, though that could be said for most people he interacted with.  

IC QUESTION: “You wouldn’t have wanted Greer to disappear, would you?”

Court let out a scoff, shaking his head. “Of course not. She was my friend,” they said, a frown crossing his face after the words as he looked at the officer. “I know people have a lot of contradicting opinions about her, but when you just…hung with her, she was chill. And people never bothered to get to know her before talking shit. Was she the nicest? No,” he answered, the words honest, if a bit blunt. “But she also wasn’t the horrible person some people like to paint her as. I don’t know. I only ever had good interactions with her. And even if I hadn’t, it’s not like I’d never want her to disappear. Or anyone.” 

BACKGROUND

FAMILY: 

SOCIAL CLASS: upper class/upper middle class

FATHER: TBD

MOTHER: TBD

SIBLING(S)? TBD

family page tbd

BIOGRAPHY:  

court was definitely more shy/reserved/closed off in his younger years - before going through puberty, he was skinny and felt so outta place in who he was, so he held himself back a lot and was very much one of the shy nerdy kids

there was definitely some bullying as well through middle school/early high school, which definitely didn’t help him feeling comfortable in his own skin

his personality started to come out a lot more once he began to feel more confident, and people realized he was a complete goofball, albeit one who is very pretty

he had a glow up around senior year of high school, and was suddenly much more welcomed into the popular cliques

not being one to hold grudges, ash became friends with a lot of the kids who were previously mean to him

when he came to ogden, he was instantly accepted in as a jock, and fit in with the quote-unquote cool kids. it was a shock for him, and he tries to hide his still very loud nerdy side so they don't realize he doesn't belong and kick him out

expanded biography tbd

SOME FUN FACTS

TBD

he has def like...concussed himself on his own locker at least once

thinks ollie is g!

was not invited to the social butterfly's new years eve

[arcadianambivalence]

I...have two theories about this.

The first one is fairly straightforward, but heavily dependent on a backstory that the show has only barely touched on.

I think the events with Claudia and Madeline triggered a memory he'd kept buried. My personal headcanon is that Louis saying "I've seen what fire does. I don't want to go out that way" in 2x03 was what convinced Armand to let him go the first time. It's why I think he was so angry at Louis after the suicide attempt in 2x05, even though he saved him again and pulled him back inside. Because he'd seen Marius burn (to death, he thinks), and he can't go through that again.

Later, Armand describes the choice as one between his coven of 200 years and Louis, whose love he couldn't count on. He chooses whatever path of least resistance keeps him alive. That's how he survived every experience so far.

Maybe it was a combination of fearing he'd lose Louis to Lestat (or Claudia), or resentment towards Lestat for abandoning him the first time, or fear of being overthrown and taken down by the very coven he built. But then he saw Claudia slowly disintegrate, screaming, turning towards Lestat in her final moments, and it's too similar to his own abduction by the Roman coven to ignore.

A child screaming for help that isn't coming. The taste of ashes in one's mouth. Someone being ripped from the condemned only to be shoved in a coffin cage and buried alive.

My second theory is a little more convoluted. This was part of an agreement Lestat and Armand made. Lestat would get him offstage, then Armand would do the rest.

There's no way Claudia could ever walk away from the trial. She confessed on paper and before the audience. But Louis didn't. And just as Louis repeatedly picked Lestat (and Armand) over Claudia, the same can be said for Lestat picking Louis over Claudia.

Lestat figured out how to save Louis, or at least delay his death, and make the audience cry for his banishment. A hopeless trick...except Santiago permits it. How would Lestat know he'd cave to the audience when they barely know each other? Because someone else knows Santiago more.

Perhaps Lestat and Armand had worked out this second rescue during the trial, which is why Lestat is oddly subdued during the tower scene instead of overjoyed that his rescue worked (and why he's so certain Armand can't kill him). It's why they kept that line of communication open enough to speak in 1973.

That these two could overcome their turbulent past to save Louis would be something of an olive branch after everything that's going to happen with Nicki in season three.

Underrated detail of the whole trial situation is that in the end Armand DID save Louis. Like I get that we're mad at him because he didn't save Louis when we thought he did, but the fact remains that Armand was totally fine with watching Louis die, and then at some point he changed his mind! Whether it was about Louis or his trauma from being starved by the Children of Darkness, he made a decision somewhere in there. And Armand is allergic to making decisions, so that's worth noting! I really hope we get to hear his side of Paris eventually because I would love to hear what his narrative of that moment is, why his reaction to his murder plot failing was to save his would-be victim and then dedicate the rest of his life to keeping him alive. Did he misjudge Louis' strength? Did hearing Lestat's side make him change his mind? Did watching Claudia die make it all real for him? Was he hedging his bets, or was he sincerely sorry??? I would like to know!!!!

[hello-there]

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[psychedelic-ink]

kinktober '22 ║ XIX

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni

word count: 2k

summary: once a month you and frankie play a game.

warnings: pray/predator, chase kink, piv, gun kink, facial, lotta pet names used by frankie, dirty talking

a/n: it's not mentioned specifically but there is a safeword in place, this is a consensual scenario. enjoy xx

MLISTS .  LIBRARY. TAGLIST . KINKTOBER '22

You can hear the blood pounding in your ears, the tips of your fingers tingling with fear, numb from the cold. Your lungs feel like they might explode at any given moment. They convulse as you inhale shuddering breaths, the air chilling your organs. Running becomes more difficult with every passing moment, the maze you’re in doing little in showing you the way out. He’s not that far away, you can sense his deep brown eyes observing your every move, taking across your skin like the prey that you are. 

Once a month you two played this game. Santiago, the fucking magician that he is, knew someone that owned a maze. It’s a horrific place, and you’re hundred percent sure that The Shining was filmed here. No one could convince you otherwise. 

Your feet slow down, coming to a halt. Another dead end. Chewing your bottom lip raw, you look up, all you can see is the dark cloudy sky. A series of loud caws echo within the maze, it makes you tremble and urges you to go back the way you came from. Just as you’re about to turn, you see a dark silhouette passing by. You jump, fear coating your skin in the form of cold sweat. The click of a gun follows and you immediately start to run the other direction, not caring if you’d already taken that path or not. 

“You’re getting sloppy,” you hear Frankie call out, his voice low laced with an unspoken threat. “I would’ve already caught you if I wanted to,” 

He means that. However, it isn’t your fault. The only thing you know is how to run, and even that you can barely do with such little exercise that goes on in your life. Frankie is a trained soldier, and a good one at that, you don’t stand a chance against his skills and  experience. You swallow, the knot in your throat growing as you desperately try to ignore the ache between your legs. You enjoy seeing him like this, it’s thrilling. There was just something so enticing about seeing him so in control, fully in his element. 

You will your legs to move faster but stumble instead, catching yourself at the very last moment. Your chest heaves, hurting and throbbing as you take in deep breaths. You feel sick, stomach churning uncontrollably. You feel disoriented as you run, every path you choose seeming familiar but not at the same time. Your mind tricks you into thinking that the moist soil underneath you starts to slip, the maze spinning and spinning. His steps grow closer, or maybe he’s already ahead of you. You don’t know. 

“I can smell the fear clinging to your skin. Being afraid isn’t going to help you sweetheart!” 

Where is his voice coming from? Is he behind you? In front of you? Shit. 

You lose this race every time, just once you would want to win. Just once you want to see that finish line–

Another turn and you see it, the iron gate. Ivy fills the emptiness between bars, roses mid-bloom scattered across the dark green. If it was any other moment you would revel in their beauty, take a mental picture, but you can’t stop when you’re already so close. Your calves tremble. You don’t hear nor feel Frankie anymore. Doubt curls around your mind like the ivy does to the gate, is this actually the exit? You’ve never seen it before so you don’t really have a base of reference. 

A slow cap rings into the night, the sound nothing bu mocking. Goosebumps lick your chilled, yet still warm, skin. You shudder at the sound, slowly turning as your heart beats like a bird in a cage. You see Frankie right behind you, his head tilted, a cruel-mocking smile tugging at his flush lips. The gun hangs loosely on his back, the strap covering a part of his chest. What a shame, you think as your gaze lingers on the strap. 

“You almost made it,” he teases, taking a step forward. “Congrats,” 

“I can still make it. You still haven’t captured me,” 

There’s an unbridled challenge in your tone, you tilt your chin up. The wind blows cold between you, his smile grows and you watch as his thick fingers curl around the strap around his shoulder. He gestures towards the gate with his chin, his grin never wavering. 

“Go on then, try to make it.” 

Your heart stills. The tone of his voice is enough to strengthen the pull your body already has towards him. You almost move towards him instead, your mind deeming that you’re already fighting a lost battle. His eyes glimmer with amusement, his eyebrows knitted together, it completes his look of pity. 

And only then you snap out of it. 

You run towards the gate, skin bursting with sweat, you feel the grime and dirt that clings to your skin. It disgusts you but you don’t care. Every nerve in your body is screaming for you to push forward, to run faster. You reach forward, a phantom sensation of iron touching your fingertips makes you smile– 

Your world shifts and the air is forced out of your lungs. The gate disappears. You feel his rifle on your throat, his chest flushed tightly against your back. You struggle but it’s in vain, his grip as strong as steel. Frankie hums, the curve of his nose brushing the side of your face, he inhales your scent and pulls you closer to him, you let out a whine. 

“So close,” he keens. “Yet so far,” 

He grinds his hips into your ass, a hushed gasp falling from your lips as you feel the hard outline of his cock. The gate forgotten, you lean into him, your body seeking to feel more of him. 

“I love watching you run, mi pájaro bonita,” his tongue touches your neck, a shiver climbs up your spine. “However, I think I like having you trapped in my arms a bit more,”  

You find yourself suddenly laying on the ground, the soil cold underneath your heated body. Frankie towers over you, still standing tall as he keeps the rifle upright between your legs. When your gaze flickers up to meet his, you can barely see the color of his eyes. 

“Make yourself wet for me,” 

When you stay completely still, he presses the gun further into your arousal, you whimper at the friction, your pussy already throbbing from the chase. 

“Do I need to repeat myself?” 

You quickly shake your head, his tongue similar to what he used when he was still a soldier. Biting your bottom lip, you raise your hips, grinding up into the weapon with trembling legs. The pressure makes your eyes roll back, arousal staining the seam of your underwear. Frankie’s hungry gaze prompts you to move faster, and you thrust your hips accordingly. Each time you slide up the barrel of the gun, light bursts within your eyelids, little black dots hovering in your vision when you open them. Your moans become louder, breathier. For a split second you drag your heavy gaze up to him, a gasp parting your lips at the same time, with a growl he starts to move the rifle up and down, adding more pleasure to your already aching pussy. 

“Frankie–” you mewl, your back arches. “Please fuck me–” 

His nostrils flare as he breathes, exhaling from his mouth. You roll your hips, your gaze falling to the rifle, you see it shine with your slick. Your head falls and you stifle a moan with the back of your hand. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” he rasps. “So pretty…You like it when I chase you around baby? You like it when I tease you with my gun?” 

A whimper escapes your throat and you furiously nod, lips still hidden behind your hand. Annoyed, Frankie clicks his jaw, head tilting to the side. 

“Words baby,” he hisses. “Let me see those pretty lips,” 

Shaking, you remove your hand. 

“I-I love it when you chase me around…and when you tease me with your gun,” 

“That’s my girl,” he coos. Frankie lets his gun fall to the ground and kneels between your legs. He tugs down your jeans, thumb notched between your wet falls. Frankie hums with approval. “So wet, want me to fuck you with my big cock now amor?” 

“Please…” 

When he’s inside you the world around you stops. Everything is a rainbow of blurred shapes and colors except for him, sparks fly across your mudded skin at the way he stretches you wide, a tingle of pain pooling between your legs and spreading throughout the rest of your body. It feels impeccable. Frankie lets go of his body, his full weight heavy on top of you, a feeling akin to a heavy blanket. His skin smells of sweat and gunpowder. As he thrusts into you, you inhale him again and again, reveling in the way he groans into your ear. 

It doesn’t take you long for you to shatter underneath him, the adrenaline and the pleasure combining into one mind numbing firework. Your body lifts from the patchy earth, arms wrapping around the column of his neck as your muscles go taut. His hard thrusts fades into a soothing grinding of his hips, his eyelids flutter as you squeeze his cock and gush around him. 

“You were just waiting for my cock to cum weren’t you?” he asks between pants and you whimper. With a smile Frnakie leans in to nuzzle your neck. “So good to me, always. Can I cum on your pretty face sweet girl?” 

“Yes,” 

Frankie chuckles at the way you pout when he pulls out of you, his cock still hard and heavy as he makes his way up to straddle your chest. The tip of his cock is a mouthwatering red, you stick your tongue out, watching with a lust filled gaze as he fists himself only an inch away from your face. His head falls back, your eyes follow the way his veins meander down his neck, his muscles tense as he groans. You swear it’s the most beautiful sound you hear. 

“Mine,” you hear him say from underneath his breath. “Mine, mine, mine–” 

He sounds hysteric, animalistic, it makes you shudder. 

“I’m yours,” you whisper, his gaze drops to you and you repeat. “I’m yours, now mark me, baby– Please,” 

His hips stutter as he cum, a loud moan following as thick ropes of cum stain your face. You feel his seed heavy on your eyelashes, on your lips, on your cheeks– You dart your tongue out to taste him, and as you do the feeling of his lips follow. 

Frankie kisses you deeply, tongue swirling in your mouth and sucking yours between his lips. You openly moan into his mouth, your insides shivering with the memory of his cock. 

He pulls away and you feel him wipe away the cum from your face, when you finally open your eyes, he decorates your skin with fleeting soft kisses. Your lips part with a giggle. 

“You’re tickling me– Stop!” 

“Fine,” he grumbles, looking down at you. “You lost, you remember this month's bet right?” 

You roll your eyes but your lips give away your good mood. 

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be cooking for two weeks,” 

“I still think it would be fair if we made it a month,” 

“Nothing about this is fair, in which universe do you think that I could ever outrun you?” 

“Hey you were actually close this time,” 

“Yeah you allowed me,” you place a hand on his cheek, thumb drawing slow circles across his damp skin. “I’ve read history before you know, you’re acting like one of those monarchs that gives their people hope on purpose so they keep submitting,” 

“How about I tie one hand behind my back next time,” 

“That sounds intriguing but you have nothing to worry about Frankie,” you lift yourself up to kiss him. “I love doing this, I don’t ever want to stop,” 

“Hmm, I’m happy to hear that,” 

“The tying your hand thing sounds fun thought, if we do that I can consider doing the punishment for a month if I lose," 

“You got yourself a deal.” 

kinktober tags: @tusk89 , @amneris21 , @witchisenpai , @pedrito-friskito , @tom-whore-dleston , @lola766 , @batdarkladyvampir , @dindjarinswhore , @dnxgma , @eyelessfaces , @queenofthefaceless , @softtdaisy , @saintlike78 , @timpletance , @xdaddysprincessxx , @stardust-galaxies , @spacecowboyhotch, @queenofthecloudss , @prettyouttherethoughts , @reaperofmen , @partr1dge , @bbyanarchist , @alwaysdjarin , @thevoiceinyourheadx , @absurdthirst , @levi-llama , @damnyoupedro , @stardust-galaxies , @all-the-way-down-here , @welcometostayingawake, @bullet-prooflove , @rainbowcreepie

[devourcr]

could a coven last forever? as far as he's seen, they can't ( and don't ). the old ones eventually chase madness and even with the younger vampires carrying on in their name, the coven either had to change or disband. some disappeared with no trace, like the Roman coven that had built him — years before the theatre, he'd reached out to radio silence, sent other vampires to find them to no avail. the théâtre des vampires was built for survivability compared to the satanic coven he'd been born of. while they upheld the old laws, they weren't a rigid structure of oppression and misery. they lived, feasted, performed and many of them were happy as performers. at his peak, he'd been the same, but restlessness had crept in and the more restless he is, the more detached he feels from them.

armand had been in control of so many choices since his beginnings as a leader in paris. he was life and death to other vampires, the puppet master in the background ensuring their success. but what he hadn't done was choose to live differently. he'd been directed to paris 300 years prior and when he'd grown tired of the first coven, he utilized another vampire to shatter it. only then to be given the theatre, to be handed yet another opportunity to lead.

and while he'd needed it desperately then, it had fulfilled its purpose, but armand recognizes he doesn't know what it is to push forward into another life. ❝ oh, but you make it sound so simple! ❞

it isn't as if they don't all have secrets when they can keep them. armand does the same to protect the things most sacred to him, the memories that were the most painful or contradictory of how he lived, how he expressed himself. but to see nothing? he isn't used to that, though before he's hit with her thoughts, he can see the anger. he knows that his request doesn't come without pain, but as their eyes lock, he doesn't expect everything that comes to him. it comes almost as a physical blow, a sharp pain to his chest. he's forced to break her gaze, eyes closing, a shudder going through him as he witnesses everything. from love to pain, to the torture of a coven. torture and indoctrination that while in a different place, under a different language triggers parallel memories that he slams down as soon as they come up.

it's all too dizzying. from the moments of happiness, of freedom, to the prison of a cruel maker, the will of a cult —

he's forgotten to breathe, a shuddering breath released as his eyes open, eyes distant, processing, red from the whiplash of emotions and the intensity of her memories. he runs a hand over his curls, hands almost shaky as he tries to process it.

❝ beloved, i — ❞ she has his empathy, but not his words. she'd taken his accusations and his demands for her to trust him and shoved them back down his throat.

as she pulls him closer, his head dips, forehead pressed to hers. he shuts his eyes, hands lifting to cup her face, fingers resting gently on her neck, every word brought in. she doesn't to leave him. ❝ i want to, ❞ he admits, and wants to with all the strength he had wanted to leave years before. ❝ i want to go with you, 300 years i've been in paris, amalia. and i live more now... ❞ he doesn't know how it'll end, if the coven will let him go, if he'll find enemies among them, or if they'll turn on him the second he passes the mantle over. but if he can salvage those relationships as they had been before, there may be a chance to come away cleanly. santiago had the makings of a coven master.

❝ if santiago will take it, with no ill-will, i'll give it to him. ❞ and still, there's some strain to his voice, fear of that unknown, fear of handing over what had been his.

change — or at least the prospect of it, the fear of the unknown — is a fearsome monster that lurks in the shadows and looms over you, making you wish to retreat to a place that is known, a place of certainty. but are they not the monsters of the night, too? amalia doesn't fault armand for being afraid at the idea that things are changing, that they may have already been doing so, before she ever stepped foot in paris. but it is killing her that he won't admit it, that he refuses to see what she does, the danger lurking just around the corner.

❝ it's certainly not happiness, is it? misery doesn't always look wretched. ❞ nothing can be constantly happy. this is not a life that lends itself well to that idea, the way they must live in the dark, hunters and hunted. but things can get better. change can be a light. ❝ you're allowed to want a different life, love. ❞

don't they all?

she goes very silent and very still, as if for a moment she has forgotten to breathe. ❝ i see, ❞ she says stiffly. ❝ you can only trust me if you get to root around inside my head? ❞ maybe he's not wrong; she does keep her thoughts locked up tight, and even when she loses control in moments of pleasure, it's the surface thoughts that spill out. they are so used to seeing inside people's minds, vampires, that maybe he's forgotten how to trust any other way. and maybe he's right. but it is still a knife through amalia's heart, and she is still coldly furious about it. ❝ fine. fine, have fun in there. ❞

she has already shattered into angry shards in a way that feels foreign; what is one more shattering, one more wall being torn down? so she lets armand in, letting him see everything from her arrival in paris to now, her thoughts as they locked eyes in the theatre, her slow fall into love, what she has been observing of the coven. the things she has heard, the reason her fear for her life is so great (and how much his dismissal of that hurts). there are no lies, here; she's had her secrets, certainly, but she's been living no double life. her feelings for him are real. perhaps she should stop there, but amalia's angry, and she doesn't; she makes sure he can't miss her time in brazil, her capture and torture at the hands of the cult, the way she escaped indoctrination and her recovery after. back further: the abuse of her turning, the cruelty of her maker, the unofficial vampire ton doing nothing to help her, her relief at the freedom she found at his death. the loneliness, the pain, the joy at seeing new places and how happy she has been, in recent years. she throws it at him like a weapon. she wants it to hurt.

(a few things stay hidden: her part in george's demise, her human life prior to her turning, any contacts she has made who pass her information. hopefully he won't notice those walls. she's allowed something, isn't she?)

he is softening, she can feel it. finally, finally armand has actually listened to what she has to say, but amalia still feels as though she is holding her breath, her fingers remaining curled in his shirt. ❝ give the coven to santiago, disappear in the night, disband it. maybe they'll hate you, maybe they'll let you go. ❞ she steps closer, her free hand pulling him down so she can rest their foreheads together. she wants to cry; the dissipating anger leaves a tremor in her hands. or maybe that's the fear he'll still say no. ❝ but come with me. i need you with me. ❞

[ohheyitsokay]

ask

this takes place in my poly frontier universe

pairing: triple frontier guys - Will “Ironhead” Miller, Santiago “Pope” Garcia, Francisco (Frankie) “Catfish” Morales, and Ben “Benny” Miller x (f) reader

wordcount: 3.8k

warnings: all fics in this series are 18+, but this one is filthy yall. it’s here, the first poly frontier smutfic. strong language, penetrative sex, oral (f receiving) kissing, voyeurism, somophilia, sex toys (note: not all of these at the same time)

also, poly dynamics, but only mentions group sex in this one

summary: kinks and building trusts with the boys individually

>>

“Hey baby, come here for a moment?”

The call floats to you, deep and unassuming, but a bit too far away for you to hear the undercurrents of his tone.

It’s strange, for Benny to be calling you like this – you thought he was getting ready for bed, and he knows you were just about to get into the shower. For these reasons alone, you entertain him, calling “One moment!” and grabbing your still-dry towel to venture along.

Your feet are near silent on the floors as you pad to the room, tilting your head when you find it empty. The others are off helping Santi’s uncle for a project, and Ben had volunteered to stay, rewarding his sacrifice with a weekend full of time with you.

But Benny isn’t in the bedroom. His voice wasn’t quite faint enough to have been outside wanting to show you something silly, so you check the kitchen, expecting to find him cooking a late-night snack. There too is void of your gentle giant, however, and you hear him laugh from the living room.

“Ben? What –”

Your lover was waiting for you to walk through the door and is suddenly, insistently pressing into you. Then your mind catches up with your eyes and you kiss him, his soft lips moving against yours with familiar determination.

Of all the things you’d been imagining, expecting, none of them were him, bare as the day he was born, his blue eyes dark with arousal. He guides you towards the couch, and you barely register a soft blanket laid out just for you. You would notice how hard he tried to make it flat, the way he tucked it in so it wouldn't rumble or slide, but his cock is hard and pressing against your hip.

It's as natural as breathing, to loose yourself in the way he can't seem to be even an inch away from you, the way his body is almost steaming with warmth like embers. Something catches in tour throat, some pinpoint of a thought as frustrating as a rock in your shoe, and you try to shove it out of your mind. He tugs at your body, turning and twisting you both so you tumble down.

The kiss breaks when you fall, and your eyes fly open, opting to look at the windows instead of the man pulling your towel away from your body. There, like a rock in your shoe, is the expanse of darkness, and flickers of reflection like watching eyes.

And his movements freeze, before he covers you again, his face pulling away just enough for you to see the line between his eyebrows. He had asked you, a few nights ago if you’d be alright with trying it, trying… a little bit of exposure, even to the cool black darkness of the land outside, and you had readily agreed. It seemed sexy, a touch of harmless danger, and well within what you should be comfortable with, given your multitude of lovers. And you can feel heat licking at you, the raw excitement of trying something a little new with him, and it was undeniable, how quickly you came undone before him.

But alongside the rush of ache and wanting was a sharp line of fear, as unwelcome as a trickle of sweat down the spine.

He hums at your silence, an understanding noise more than a grumble, and you feel a third feeling: guilt, as he moves to stand.

“Wait, Ben, it’s… it’s fine.” The windows, still dark and unchanging, pull your eyes, and you look up towards him instead, your hand pulling at his skin. Obediently he kisses you, and your anxiety softens when he smiled against your mouth.

“It’s not, love, but that’s cool,” he tries to coax you up, knowing well he would win. “It’s not like you’re any less fucking gorgeous in the bedroom.” It was one of those jokes he made, one of those truths he spoke, matter of fact, making your heart swell like the crest of a wave. You tried, it didn’t work, and while it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest – in fact, the delay of your hands on him was the most inconvenient part – you hesitate.

It wasn’t a lie, before. You want him, this. 

“Wait,” you try again, unfolding your towel and his eyes rake over you involuntarily. You angle the cloth so you’re still shielded, but on full display for him, and you see him twitch gratefully at your bravery. And he knows you, sees the determination in your eyes, and relents, too hungry for you to slow down.

The air is cool, but heating rapidly, and there’s a softness behind the heat that tells you that you've won.

Briskly, he yanks most of the curtains closed, guarding you from the most intimidating ones before returning, sinking onto you like nothing in the world could keep him from tasting you.

In-between kisses he pulls the blanket corner over most of you, discarding the towel and whispering about taking it step by step. His reassuring sentences trail into quiet affirmations when you agree, and then trickle into nothing as his mouth finds it’s way down your body.

It should be sweet, the way his mouth sucks at the underside of your breast, the playful lick he leaves around your nipple, but it is. It is because his hands hold the blanket just so you're for him, and his eyes flicker to yours, despite his focus, checking in.

And he covers you again without you asking, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach.

It makes you wish, somehow, it would be reasonable to hold his hand.

When his tongue finds it’s home along the folds of your cunt, and you watch him rut against the cushions with a groan, you stop thinking about anything. He's made a little world for you, somehow, a little adventure for you and him.

Hands curling into the soft thick of his hair, you feel him flick and lick around you clit and you can’t help but think you should’ve stopping thinking long ago. And as he presses two of those perfect fingers into you, you think you hear him whisper to focus on him.

You think you manage to reconfirm your trust before your orgasm hits you.

Benny fucks you like the two of you are in your own little world. Maybe that’s why he likes this so much, likes the idea that no matter what circumstances, he can encompass you, carve a home for the two of you between reality. He thrusts a little wildly, a little inconsistently, and you know for a fact he’s not trying to prove anything, not letting defensive thoughts enter your little world. All he’s thinking about is you, the way he can see your breasts bounce even beneath the blanket, the way your tight heat is almost swallowing him, and the way you’re looking at him, finally, with half-lidded eyes, like you’re only thinking about him too. The way he’s hitting that spot again and again, the way he knows you, the way he’s using his strength to almost desperately make you feel like nothing else in the world matters more than this, now. 

You are, and without thinking, your eyes snap closed as you gasp.

-

It's quiet, darkness like a blanket over your home, draping itself into every corner of your room. Above that, above the heavy folds of nighttime magic, something else.

It feels like fog, spider webs and cotton and thick, thick caramel. Dreams poking through like the tips of pine trees spearing out of grey morning mist.

You’re sleeping.

Or at least you think you are – you can feel a comforting weight surrounding your body, warm walls of men sleeping soundly nearby.

But… but there’s something else, too, something hot like lava, seeping around the edges of you mind. It's slick in places, slippery like lips and tongues and sloppy touches and something else entirely in others, something firm. Subtle but insistent.

And something.... tall, sturdy forest trees, linen and leather and aftershave. Santi.

A click of the wrist and swathes of spiderwebs are swept away. He's half on top of you, his hand guiding his cock against your folds so it rubs your clit with every sleepy thrust.

You're... soaking wet, like he been teasing you longer than you can remember, and you're aching for him like you're inches from cumming, hard. Slowly, softly he shifts you, and a thought slips in your mind that he’s being more careful than you expected when you’d talked about this yesterday. You start to get those inches, a perfect stretch of his tip pressing into you, and your dream mind wonders if he’s trying not to wake you. 

It’s impossible to tell if you’re conscious or not - you’re aware, but your body feels aflame, encompassed by him, hyper focused on only him. You try to tell him “Yes, Santi, more -” you try to beg a little, “please, keep -” but only a tiny whine escapes.

And he’s pulling away, a rush of hot air clouding over your shoulder blades. You whine again in protest, still too tired to reach for him, forgetting the nearby men. Santi kisses your spine your shoulder, the shell of your ear. It’s tender, the most temped feeling yet to breach the moment. 

 You’re aware of him, because it’s Santi. That’s why you told him this was okay, that’s why you trusted him. But that’s also why you know him, know he’s hesitating, not for you to sleep, but for you too wake. 

It’s effort, clawing your way through the cotton, but you focus on his hand, still drawing feather-light lines over your waiting cunt. You focus on his other hand, gently smoothing over your skin, softly, subconsciously appreciating every inch of flesh. And you crack an eye, before realizing it’s well and truly night still, and reaching back for him blindly. 

“I said it was okay, Pope,” your whisper still croaks a bit, and you wince.

You feel him soften when your hand finds his neck, pulling him back onto you.

“Yesterday.” His voice is but a breath, and you think you understand.

“Okay,” you find your quiet voice, now laced with your arousal, and he shudders at it. “Okay,” you try again. “It’s now, Santi, please.”  His cock, still hard, presses against your folds like he’s entranced by you, like keeping his skin from yours was the greatest effort.

The words tumble out of you - you hardly notice them, keeping them just shy of silent. They’re for him, for now, the other’s will get their turn when he chooses, like you talked about. And he gives in, pressing deep with a breathless groan. It’s a stretch, how full he makes you feel, but not as much as you expected, confirming. His hands... one braces his weight, so he can begin to rock, and the other finds your lips, filling your mouth with two of his fingers, insisting on your silence.

And you relax, surrendering yourself for him, hand moving to weakly hold his wrist. Each time he slows, and you can feel anxiety spike just a little, you squeeze him gently, reminding him again and again, you trust him.

He whispers, “I’ve got you,” and “I fucking love you baby,” and you think you get it. Why he likes this, because you do too. 

Fucking Santi makes you feel like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. He alternates between quick, deliberate ruts and those slow strokes where he almost completely leaves you before he thrusts as deep as he can go, and yet still. He makes you feel like a lucid dream, like everything is a little too good to be true. You feel full of him, surrounded by him, like you’re floating but you’ll never fall. His stubble scrapes against your skin and he holds you like this fuck is part of a dream he’s building for the two of you. There’s this thing about Santiago, this... love that burns with intensity like soot and sweat and you almost taste it on his fingers.

You trust him completely, and he trusts you just as much.

-

Frankie’s breath is hot against your breast, his eyes still clear as he presses a slow open-mouthed kiss to the swell of it.

Your mind as been sputtering out since this afternoon – when Frankie admitted he bought you a vibrator without asking, because your old one had gotten lost. The very idea of him, Frankie, thinking of that and… using it on you had your mind filled with adoringly lustful daydreams.

And here he is, hovering fully clothed above you, as though he hadn’t been thinking about pressing it against your clit as he filled you.

Unfortunately for you, he’s talking like he isn’t quite thinking about it even now, as you’d practically town off your own clothes for him.

“Answer me, baby,” he rumbles, and you whine.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Those deep brown eyes darken a little, and the creases in their corners deepen ever-so-slightly. Pulling back, he regards you: clothes pressing crumpled wrinkles into the skin of your back, most of you bare just for him. And he looks at the little vibrator in his hands, runs the silicon over the lines along your legs, slow, thoughtful.

It moves, following his words as he talks.

“I see these gorgeous tits, all…” he swallows appreciatively, “All of you out for me.” He’s slow, almost torturing you, but it’s sweet – his dedication to your affirmation. If it were anyone else, it would be purely to tease, purely to see how undone you are, but it’s him.

You can see it, even as he slides closer and closer to giving in, his intensity to make sure everything is clean and cut.

“I see your pretty, desperate face,” he flips the vibrator, watching as your eyes for honestly as they flicker towards it imploringly. He lowers it, using his free hand to push your panties to the side, shifting a little in spite of himself. “You’re fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart.” It’s not on but it’s there, hovering inches from your core and you relent.

“Yes, Frankie,” you almost laugh at how obviously you want this. He turns it on, and you try not to whimper, laughter dying under the flood of your arousal. “Yes, it’s always been okay, not just now, I promise.” Your sweet Catfish relaxes, finally, his shoulders almost drooping now that you’ve confirmed he’s not, in fact, overstepping by buying toys for you.

“I can use it on you, us?” The last, tiny doubt is in his eyes, and you do laugh. As much as you want this, have been wanting this for what feels like hours, you pull him into a chaste kiss.

“Yes, Frankie. This all okay with you?” He laughs too, almost shuddering.

“Yeah,” he kisses you hard, his own arousal finally overtaking him, “Fuck. Yeah.”

Your wait is over, abruptly, as he yanks clothes off with efficiency, almost immediately pushing the vibrator to an equally intense buzz. It wracks through you, shaking into your very core as he experiments for long moments, gliding it from your slick folds to your aching clit. His eyes feel like his fingers, running over your face, your skin, your trembling sex, and you know what he’s watching for. It takes him no time at all, to find a spot that makes you feel like you’re going to cry from the pleasure, not time at all to realize the only thing left is for you to be filled.

You try to ask him, words rushed and tumbling, if he wants you to use it on him, but he shakes his head and presses the tip of his leaking cock against you, toy unwavering from it’s place. And even now, he keeps you waiting, just long enough for you to gasp, please before he pushes inside of you.

And your first orgasm hit you immediately, his groan ringing in your ears. You always stretch around Frankie, the sheer girth of him filling you completely, and this is near ethereal.

He slows the vibe, waiting, concentrating as he tries not to overstimulate you, and you have the overwhelming thought that Francisco Morales is perfect, and he seems to agree.

Just as abruptly, he clicks it off and tosses it away, leaning over to encompass you more.

When your hips roll and you whisper, “Go ahead,” he almost growls his response:

“My turn.”

He means it too, and it’s just like him - to think of you pleasure like selfish, selfless love. Moments of insecurity and wrong moves are long gone, replaced with the confidence of a man who knows no thing could fuck you better. And he loves you, thinks you’re strong and sexy and sweet and soft and he simply doesn’t feel like distracting himself from swallowing you whole.

Frankie pushes into you with steady determination, watching, watching for every little song he makes your body sing. You came him want to grab every handful of you he can get and hold on as long as he can. He wants to see you come undone, and wants to be the one who made it so, wants to let himself pour into you and let his forehead fall on yours and kiss you slow. Because this isn’t about just you or just him, but this special thing the two of you have, that he’ll never stop being in awe of.

And now he knows.

-

“Will...” you concentrate on saying his name, gasping it out like it’s you’re final breath. He rumbles in response, and you lose your words all over again.

Your Ironhead is buried deep in your heat, not moving an inch and he holds you against his chest.

“We’ve been talking about it, and I’m almost sure we can make it work.” 

He’s working hard to keep his voice even, even harder to keep from pounding into you. Only because you’ve known him for years can you tell, because as long as you’ve been fucking, he’s been working on building your patience.

“Will,” you try again. Allowing himself a quiet groan, he begins moving his hand against your clit again. Almost writhing, you fight to keep you question in your mind, hating how he’s just barely coming undone after all this time.

"Why are we talking about this right now?"

His chuckle is tight, like the wrap of your soaking sex around him is finally making him question his choices.

"This was the plan?" He asks - he's asking, even though he knows it's true. You'd talked about it before, worked up to you taking the length him while for awhile, keeping his cock warm to see how long he could last.

But you're two orgasms in and it's unreasonable how desperately you need him to move, just thrust a little, to find that spot he's near memorized, to do something.

And you don't know how to say that when all you can feel is him, Will, Will, Will. He's hard, almost harder than you've ever felt, his sturdy thighs tense beneath your own, and his arms keep you grounded. He's everywhere and it's phenomenal, truly, but something has to change.

"I - " you take a slow, even breath, before giving up on words and finding his wrist to grip hopelessly.

It's instantaneous, how he springs like he's been waiting for your signal, and he lifts you off of him with effort, concern in his eyes.

"Too much." It's not a question.

You hum, gathering your scattered thoughts to kiss him slowly.

"Not enough," you say, smiling at him, too in love to be particularly shy. Surprised, he tilts his head, looking you over.

"William Miller," you kiss him again. "Please fuck me?"

He groans a little, before his broad hands are guiding you back onto his length, and you both shudder. Will sets an unreasonably fast pace and you make a noise, clinging to him for dear life, relief flooding your system alongside the pleasure.

He remembers talking is only in his top three ways to communicate with you, one of the others being interpreting the gasps he makes hitch into your throat. There’s thoughts running through his wind, warm like satisfaction as he remembers himself, remembers you, and how beautiful, wonderful, capable you are. The idea that you’ve disappointed him isn’t one of those thoughts, because he can’t be bothered with the falsity, couldn’t comprehend your honestly being anything less than perfect.

And he can see the way your pussy takes the length of him again and again, getting slicker by the second. He can see the way your legs wriggle and tremble, weak with pleasure but asking him - begging him for more. There’s this expression on your face, one he’s been seeing long enough to know its because of him. It’s relief, it’s the moment that he finds that perfect thing, whatever you need, hits it just right. There’s almost nothing that makes him more proud, and he knows it, sees it in your eyebrows, feels it in your hands on his skin, and it’s all he needs.

Every moment is necessary, like pieces to a puzzle, every word fits into place.

The last few found are your ankles digging into flesh, the pulse of you together, his name on your lips.... and then he stops thinking.

-

It was work, eliminating unrequited moments, but you all did it diligently. 

Extra dates, careful timing, intentional love.

No letting jealousy build.

And moments.

Kissing Will like you need him more than air, feeling Santi split you open, cracking an eye to see Frankie tugging Ben into the closest guestroom. 

Hearing laughter and muffled moans pour out from the shower like the steam, and sliding off to the kitchen to get a snack while you wait.

The softness of Frankie bringing you down, Will cleaning you off while the others go another round. Steady, undistracted eyes and tired limbs pulling you to rest.

It’s work, but none of you would have it any other way.

<<

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❝I’m not walking away from this.❞ // santiago for bri. she's gonna be a mother!

𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐏𝐓 𝟏 (accepting)

The checklist is near complete; a hospital bag packed with all the essentials a new mother needs during her expected stay in the hospital. She’s to be induced tomorrow at almost 38 weeks, a requirement for twins. Partly she’s more ready than she’s ever been; feeling like a beached whale, only able to waddle here and there, forgetting the sight of her feet, and never not having to use the bathroom. But then, the change in this quiet house will be so abrupt, she wonders how they’ll manage.

Only one item (or items as it is) needs to be decided. Laid out on their bed are three darling pairs of newborn outfits; a selection of onesies and rompers, all whites and soft blue pastels, one with a lamb pattern, another with cutesy alligators embroidered on the collar — their babies' going home outfits when all this is done. Even if it’s a little frivolous and just for the pictures one takes during such a momentous occasion, she wants Santiago’s help in deciding. Including him in everything is so important to her.

“I’m somewhat partial to the simple ones.” Prior consideration contributes to her musing regarding those with no excess decorations and only light blue trim along the seams. She lifts one of the two from the bed and hands it over to him. “But then the ones with the lambs are also rather adorable” 

Silence follows, coaxing her sight over to her partner who casts a quiet stare at the cotton onesie dwarfed in his big hands. Is he thinking the same with how incredibly small it looks or is it something else? Something that she feels and is avoiding by keeping herself so busy today. Those hopes and fears, the nerves mixed with excitement, he must feel it also, but with more self-doubt than she. Her desire for children was something he came around to, and it happened all so fast. It worries her; so much more changed for him since they departed Night City together. From a dangerous life on the streets running a gang to one ostensively domestic and comparatively carefree. And to become a father when one has no memory of his own to fall back on — how out of sorts he must feel on the eve of ever more change.

“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” Her hand reaches for his, fingers settling along the top just as gently as the whisper voicing her concern. “But I hope not too much.” 

To which he turns, his hand rotating to accept hers in its grasp. In the silence of their stare, in the depths of his brown eyes, she can indeed see all those emotions mirrored. “I’m not walking away from this,” he, at last, tells her and she knows it's not about choosing the going home outfit. It's a reassurance he needn’t speak, but that settles that useless worry in her heart nonetheless. Together they've done so much and together they can do this.