#Evil Key Beast

[shadowfoxsilver]

Updated reference for the Evil Key Beast~

[freakfangz]

they put me in resident evil no way

[wynncass]

if you’re sexist there’s lari.

Now that i think about it, kinda weird for an RPG to not have An Evil Guy

Like, yes there's a lot of evil people. There's Bak'Al but he's like Bob's Evil Guy, but the player themselves don't have any villain to hate.

There's no Villain attacking villages, burning forests, torturing people, corrupting the land, there's no nemesis. Just the concept of darkness and evil and the Decay, and the senseless destruction of the corruption.

It's not bad, just weird now that i think about it

[sobbingscripter]

Tags: [mlw][mdni][friends to more?][porn mention][hr violations][bald jokes][asmr][brief oral (f! receiving)][fingering][semi public][workplace rendezvous]

"My job is done, I'm not doing anything wrong."

"You. Are watching porn in the workplace. That, alone, is a violation of so many HR codes."

The sigh that leaves perfectly plump lips is something that you can never get tired of, thick muscular fingers pinch the bridge of a strong nose and Lex let's out the kind of breath that you can only accompany with a man far too tired to deal with bullshit.

"Was I masturbating?" You question. "Because if I was masturbating, then it's an HR violation. And besides, it's not like I called anyone to my desk, now did I?"

Lex stares down at you, juniper gaze narrowing with annoyance at the way you keep bickering with him, arms crossed over your chest, your expression the very image of unbothered and right.

This is why Lex doesn't hire friends.

You and Lex go way back. Shared classes, science partners and the best of friends, but right now, he really wants to break that computer over your head. And Lex takes a deep breath, blowing it out through his nose.

"I can't believe I'm doing this but you're getting a porn blocker." Lex states.

"You can't make me do anything, Agent 47."

"Yes I can. I'm your boss and you get paid to do what I say."

You stare up at Lex, lips tugging downwards into a frown, and you let out a huff, manicured nails flying across the keyboard as you continue to download a porn blocker.

"Ever since you lost your hair, you switched up." You mutter and Lex groans.

"You're using company resources, to watch porn." Lex grumbles, a muscular hand dragging across his features before he stares down at the loading screen on your computer, and he sighs.

And he takes the time to look at your desk.

To take a really, really thorough look.

A monitor decorated with penguin-shaped sticky notes with important dates, numbers and details, a cup full of various gel pens that he just knows you stole from him when you two went stationery shopping, one of those aesthetic keyboards that sound, as you would put it, 'creamy', with rounded keys and satisfying clacks. And his attention moves to the pretty, bear-shaped frame on your desk. Cartoonish eyes with a picture being in the belly of the beast.

Lex doesn't have to look too long to know it's a picture from when you attended his graduation. The gleaming smile on your face is one he looks back on frequently, the way your glossy lips curled, the way you cheered so loudly because you truly, truly had faith that he'd make something of himself.

And without a thought, a second of hesitance even, Lex's hand cups your chin and he presses a sweet kiss to the crown of your head, strands of hair pressing against his lips before he lets out a hum.

It's a sweet action. A silent appreciation for that fact that you've stuck around this long, that you've been his rock in times of adversity and evilness.

"I'm gonna go get our lunch." Lex states softly. "Grilled cheese okay?"

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

"Big back, big back."

Lex ignores the way you taunt him, your voice an annoying sing-song as he takes a bite of his third grilled cheese sandwich, grease and stringy cheese on his lips before he licks the mess away, staring at you from beneath furrowed brows.

"Says the one who put away two sandwiches, as well as a tub of ice cream. Worry about your waistline." Lex insults with a huff.

"Worry about your hair. Out here, looking like One Punch Man's wide-eyed cousin."

Lex snorts, a fisted hand coming to cover his mouth as his broad shoulders shake with a mixture of laughter and coughing, the snowy fabric of his shirt straining against the muscle of his torso, crimson tie discarded somewhere and he stares at you, silvery eyes twinkling.

"Say what you want but I'm sexy regardless." Lex boasts, taking another bite of his sandwich and he chews, waiting for the quip that'll come after you stop that insipid and obnoxious slurping of your coffee.

He likes having lunches with you. The easiness of talking, the unpracticed habits that he allows himself to slip back into. The way you're so... Unashamedly yourself, even though you really should be.

It's a pleasant break from the circles he's found himself running in and Lex runs his tongue across his teeth, resting back in his desk chair.

"I'm waiting for the insult." Lex reminds you teasingly, dimpled cheeks rising into a grin that makes your palms the tiniest bit sweatier but you ignore the feeling that seems to bloom in your lower belly whenever Lex smiles.

"I'm trying to think of bald characters. Instead of just calling you the default businessman LEGO." You hum, reaching towards Lex's fourth sandwich, peeling back the parchment and taking a bite.

"You glutton. You said you only wanted two sandwiches." Lex's eyes narrow, his jaw clenching with annoyance as he watches your teeth tear away piece after piece of his sandwich.

And you continue to munch, simply staring at Lex with an expression that says there's not a single thought behind your pretty, doe eyes. Long lashes flutter as you lick the cheese from your bottom lip, and you take a sip of your coffee.

"Your hatred makes the sandwich taste better." You murmur, taking another bite.

"I hope it tastes amazing because I'm praying you choke."

"You don't even believe in God."

"I'll start believing if you choke. Fuck, I'll even build a church right now."

You stare at Lex blankly.

"You bald-headed demon."

"I might be bald but my hairline isn't crooked."

"You don't even have a hairline!"

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🐀་༘

It's relatively late when you finish your own work, slumped in your seat as you continue to log reports, scheduling Lex's extensive meetings ahead of time so that you at least have a bit of leisure time during the next week. Your manicured fingers type so gently, enjoying each individual click of the creamy keys, soft pastel coloured beneath your fingers.

And Lex's footsteps aren't heavy at all, soft pads of his socks on the carpeted floors of your joint office and he hums.

"You'd work a lot faster if you weren't obsessed with that ASMR bullshit."

Dropping into the seat beside you, Lex manspreads. Thick thighs causing the tailored fabric to stran across the sinewy muscles, his body slumped and he just looks so much bigger in the dim lighting of the abandoned office. His tie's discarded, the same as his jacket and his shoes, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and exposing muscular, veiny forearms and the silver wristwatch glitters.

"ASMR isn't bullshit." You frown. "It's tingly."

You spin your desk chair to face Lex, his elbows braced on the armrests and he stares at you, a perfect brow raised when he notices that expression on your face.

Like you're planning to prove him wrong.

And he limply raises his hands.

"Tingle me."

Lex spends about 15 minutes in the seat, his eyes closed as you trail your feathery pens across his face, the satisfying tap of your manicured nails (that he paid for) is something that he can't lie and say he hates. The way you trace over his features, the soft whisper of your voice as you whisper the most random shit and the way your breath fans across his face.

The corners of his mouth twitches, but you made him keep a straight face, and Lex's tongue traces over his bottom lip.

"And this shit helps you sleep?" Lex questions and you hum softly. "It'd sound better if I had my ASMR-y stuff."

Lex let's out a hum, his hands grasping the edges of his armrests before sighing.

"You know, it's not really getting to me. Maybe you should move—" Lex's hands bracket your hips and he pulls you onto his lap with ease, your thighs spreading to accomodate his sculpted legs. And Lex shifts a bit.

"That's better."

You go quite, lips pursed before you continue to trace his features with yet another puffball pen, soft faux fur tickling his features and you sigh softly.

"Not you trying to cop a feel."

And Lex's retort is instant.

"Not you letting me."

There's a silence that stretches almost uncomfortably between the two of you, your eyes locked on his for what could be considered an intimate moment of time, his thumbs brushing along the skin of your hips where your shirt was untucked. And Lex's gaze flits to your lips.

Full, perfect, rosy and soft. He's seen you walk around with Vaseline and an assortment of lipbalms like it's your religion, so he's not too surprised by the fact that they're literally perfect.

And you swallow.

And Lex swallows.

"Two best friends in a desolate office, they mi—"

Lex's lips are crashing against yours, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you higher onto his lap, and you find yourself sitting atop a bulge that definitely wasn't there earlier on. Your arms encircle his neck, and Lex deepens the kiss, his head tilted up towards yours.

His lips press against yours in a way you've never felt before, shaky breaths and your fingers opt to sink into the hair at the nape of Lex's neck but your fingers keep slipping.

And Lex groans.

"Rub my thoughts."

And you pull away from the kiss, brows furrowed and lips tugged into a frown.

"Why would you say that?" You question, the corners of your lips threaten to curl upwards because you have to admit, that was funny.

"I thought I'd better say something before you did." Lex murmurs, a coy grin on his lips as he stares up at you, emerald gaze twinkling in the way you can only compare to the reflection of moonlit branches dancing on the surface of the a still body of water. And his tongue brushes across his teeth, coming to a stop at his canine.

"How women want you, I'll never understand."

That's a lie. You definitely understand.

Unless it's personality. Then it's a little trickier.

"It's because of my luscious locks."

Pffft.

The laugh that tumbles from your lips is as melodious as it is messy. Snorts and wheezes, your nails digging into the fat, meaty flesh of his bicep and Lex can only soak in the warmth of your body as he makes you laugh.

Before he hums.

"I'm just kidding. It's because I've got a huge dick."

You gasp.

"I wanna see."

Lex simply let's out a little sigh, amused as muscular digits undo the loop of his belt, leather snapping with each rough tug and you snicker.

"I'm gonna see the autumn trail." You boast, your palms rubbing together in the way that Lex can only compare to the sneakiness of a fly with a plan in mind.

"Prepare..." Lex lifts the edge of his shirt, as well as the waistband of his boxers, "for nothing!"

Not a single strand in sight.

"Looking like Jada Pinkett Smith." You murmur softly. "Alo-Peter."

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪩་༘࿐

"Lex, this—... This isn't what I meant..."

Your voice is a meek whisper, brows furrowed as Lex's fingers continue to stroke along the gummy walls of your cunt, the cool rings on his index and middle finger kiss either side of your slit with each gentle pump, his pudgy thumb nestled between your folds, circling your clit in that way that makes your toes curl with how oddly nice he's being about it.

Pulling sweet mewls from your plush lips, his body occupying your seat while you're perched on your desk, forced to be mindful of your monitor and keyboard.

"Shhhh." Lex's free hand moves to undo the buttons of your shirt, silver accessories glittering so prettily in the dim light. "Listen to my kind of ASMR."

And you remain quiet.

Listening to the lewd squelch of your cunt each time his fingertips press against that gooey spot, your toes curl in your hosiery and you find yourself focused on Lex's expression. So easy, a grin on his face like he's accomplished something.

Like he's cracked a puzzle that no one's ever cracked before.

And you need to ruin it. You have no idea why.

"You're one of many." You lie, but the way Lex's expression falls makes it worth it. Brows furrow and eyes narrow before he shifts closer.

"Can't you let me have anything?" He huffs in frustration.

"I physically cannot. It ails me to gift you things." Your lashes flutter, nails scratching along the wood of your desk and Lex let's out a huff.

"Shut up."

Lex's head dips between your thighs, muscular hands forcing your legs further apart to accomodate the width of his shoulders, and his tongue drags through your folds and it feels so...

Orgasmic until there's an abrupt shift in light.

And you meet Mercy's unwavering stare.

And she takes a deep breath.

"I'm taking my vacation days."

Taglist:

@lucky-beheaded 🌻

@anesthesia-4rizzle 🎀

@starski 🌃

@5lxt4u 🎻

@pariahsparadise 🏝️

@ilove-nsfw 🖇️

@titchx0 🦆

@feral010 ✨

@blckbarbiedoll 🌷

@custardpuddingprincess ⭐

@allycat4458 🪻

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch 🦄

@theamazkngskye 🍄

[mushr90]

mush's ultimate fic rec guide!

𓍊𓋼 a masterlist of all my favourite works made by various creators here on tumblr. most of these are series', but i've categorised them by 'series' and 'oneshots' just incase. i've made sure to tag them, link the posts, and add a brief summary for each, so y'all can digest and enjoy too! i'll also be updating this regularly (*ᵕᴗᵕ)⁾⁾

𓍊𓋼 please read through all of the tags listed for each fic carefully as i am not going to be listing them here! you control the media you consume.

𓍊𓋼 updated: 04/04/25 🔔

𓍊𓋼 key: ✩ = ongoing / ✮ = completed

Red Dead Redemption II

⟢

⟢

Baldur's Gate 3

⟢

⟢

The Last of Us

series

⟢ 'daddy next door' by @cavillscurls (joel miller x fem! reader) ✩

summary: "its summer in texas, and when the dashing joel miller moves in next door, your less than favorable life gets completely turned around."

⟢ 'of rage and ruin' by @corazondebeskar-reads (joel miller x fem! reader) ✩

summary: "joel miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. he turns into a much different kind of monster than he expected, though."

⟢ 'Waiting Game' by @gutsby (joel miller x fem! reader) ✩

summary: "joel miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. a cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you."

Resident Evil

⟢

⟢

Call of Duty

series

⟢ 'Cherry Red, Crimson Blood' by @soaps-mohawk (tf141 x fem! reader) ✩

summary: "task force 141 operates successfully without an omega, at least that’s what price has been saying since its formation. two alphas and two betas balance the pack just fine, and they have the numbers to prove it. it works for a while, until the omega initiative is born and the 141 find themselves having to adjust to the sudden addition of an omega to their pack. fresh out of an institute, you’re hardly fit for their secretive, dangerous world, or so price thinks."

⟢ '𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝙳𝚘𝚐 𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚗𝚢' by @void-my-warranty (simon riley x fem! reader x johnny mactavish) ✩

summary: you and simon have been together for years, but, unable to give you what you truly want in the bedroom, what you need, he decides to bring in the only other man he trusts to do the job -- johhny. as feelings grow and troubles arise, will this arrangement come to a crumbling head, or will there be an alternative solution?

⟢ 'AS NEEDED' by @novemberheart (tf141 x fem! reader) ✩

summary: after having previously been rejected by task force 141, their decision to finally accept an omega into their pack comes with many troubles and uncertainty, and your new place here might not be as permanent as you think.

⟢ 'Jaws' by @alkalineapparition (simon riley x fem! reader) (this one is on ao3) ✩

summary: "alone and half feral in a dirty cell, ghost finds you during a raid beneath a military research lab. it quickly becomes clear that something isn't right with you, your behaviour more beast than human. a result of horrific human experiments, you're a failed attempt at making genetically modified soldiers with killer instincts and keen senses. instead they produced you - a mutt. ghost is assigned to be your handler, to help you heal and shape you in to the 141's very own attack dog. but the bond between a handler and their beast eventually turns into something more..."

⟢ 'In Limbo' by @ilium-ilia (simon riley x fem! reader) ✩

summary: "joining the mafia is no different than selling a soul to the devil, and it's something simon riley is all too willing to do if it means keeping his family safe. it isn't until he meets you–the girl who runs from everything–that he realises there are much worse things to be caught up in."

⟢ 'Daughters with Soft Underbellies' by @ilium-ilia (john price x fem! reader) ✩

summary: "all your life you have known nothing but the word of god and your father's short temper. every day, you are forced to turn the other cheek for minor mistakes you make within your father's gaze. yet, as a devout follower to god and your father, you have no one else to turn to. when the owner of the saloon tells you about some strangers lurking around town, you decide to take your chances with these wayward men in the hopes that they'll save you. but they are dangerous, conniving bandits; a fact you learn a little too late. you should have known that sheep who stray too far from the flock are at the mercy of the wolves. better sharpen those teeth of yours, little lamb."

⟢ 'anatomy of us' by @bi-writes (simon riley x fem! reader) ✩

summary: "in an attempt to tame an unruly alpha, you are given. he did not come with warning labels. but neither did you."

⟢ 'Breaking Bread' by @softaestluv (simon riley x fem! reader) ✮

summary: "simon riley who is quite the anomaly of a man, or human, rather. your lieutenant who has only spoken a handful of words to you. simon riley who happens to be sat at the only open table in the mess hall."

⟢ 'Grease & Grime Won’t Break Your Bones' by @softaestluv (simon riley x fem! reader) ✮

summary: "you never thought you were attracted to grease and grime, sweat and exhaustion, definitely needed a shower and scrub, but no one has worn it like he is."

⟢ (1) 'RETURN TO SENDER' (original) / (2) 'IN CONTEMPT' (sequel) by @sai-int (simon riley x fem! reader) ✮

summary: (1) "it was a joke. A letter to a criminal—uk's most wanted. you told him he was hot. told him you were a virgin. left your address, because it’s not like he’d ever get out, right?" | (2) "you tried to move on, but no one quite measures up; not to the way he touched you, not to the way he ruined you. but when he reappears, you can feel him even before you see him. the past has a way of punishing disobedience, and now, it’s here to settle the score."

⟢ 'RASPBERRY GIRL' by @peachesofteal (simon riley x fem! reader) ✩

summary: captain! simon riley takes an interest in the sweet and docile little bakery-worker and vows to make her wholly his.

⟢ '𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤' by @cinnamonghostcrunch (simon riley x fem! reader) ✩

summary: "where in you move to manchester to start fresh, only to cross paths with a mysterious local who changes everything. what started as an unexpected encounter soon evolves into something much more, growing increasingly complicated as his secrets and your doubts cast shadows over everything."

⟢ 'INK & NEEDLE' by @gloomwitchwrites (simon riley x fem! reader) ✮

summary: "a night out in london to celebrate your friend’s upcoming marriage ends with a quick hook-up in a club’s green room. you don’t expect to see your masked man ever again, and you leave it as a one-time thing. three years later, you’re back in england, and find yourself facing the man you walked away from at that club. he's running a tattoo parlor just down the street from where you’re staying. over time, your paths cross and cross again until the two of you are tangled up in a messy web. will it last? or will one of you walk away?"

*major credit to all the creators mentioned, and to the ones i'm yet to discover! you guys are so talented and i love you ( ๑ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و♡

[lionneee]

On The Bottom Of The Ocean

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: smut, piv, degradation, slapping, chocking, dub-con, belt-play.•

Ghost!Aemond x Modern!Reader

Harrenhal, was the center of the story of Prince Aemond’s tragic fall.

Harrenhal was key to Prince Aemond Targaryen’s downfall in the Dance of the Dragons. Stationed there, Aemond took it as a base for the Greens. When Daemon Targaryen arrived with Caraxes, he lured Aemond into a fateful aerial duel. The two fought over the God’s Eye lake, where Daemon killed Aemond midair by plunging his sword through Aemond’s eye. Both riders and dragons fell, marking Harrenhal as the site of Aemond’s tragic end.

Aemond’s character has always intrigued you, and you always craved to find his skeleton in the bottom of the ocean, his and his beautiful dragon, a beast of a massive size, and power.

You have read all the stories about Aemond’s life, the loss of his eye, the murder of his nephew, the starting of the war, his attempt to murder his brother, his period as Prince Regent.

When he was sent to Harrenal, his secret relationship with Alys. 

His death.

Your parents were never enthusiastic of your fixation with One-Eyed Aemond, his evilness was known to them as well as all the people who studied history.

Yet, you believed there was more in him than simple evilness.

So you knew you had a one chance in life when your parents had to move in King's Landing for a few weeks because of your grandma sickness.

It was the moment to make good of your scuba diving lessons.

𓂃𓂃𓂃 𓆉 𓂃𓂃𓂃

You took a few breaths as you looked at the water as you sat at the edge of your boat.

The water was deep blue, it was almost scary.

But you were determined.

You had studied the position with precision, considering the current of the water over the years.

You were miles above the position you believed Aemond’s skeleton was.

You took a few deep breaths, exercising yourself before diving into the water.

You knew this was dangerous, even more since you were alone but you felt like you had to do it.

You needed to see him with your eyes.

With one last deep breath you put on the oxygen mask and let yourself fall into the water.

It was cold. Colder than usual, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

It was like the water itself was trying to tell you to emerge and go back home.

No. No, you had to see him.

You kept swimming, pointing the light to check you were safe, and heading in the right direction.

You distracted yourself only a moment, and your chest suddenly hit something.

You gasped and immediately jerked away, startled as you moved the light to point in front of you.

A bone.

A rib.

A massive rib. The diameter was probably over five inches, and the curve was way bigger than the one of a human.

You lightened around, then you caught the glimpse of her.

Vaghar.

You were right.

You were fucking right!

Aswam towards the cranium, getting closer to her mouth, your height covered maybe the length of one of her teeth.

You quickly took off one of your gloves and placed your hand on her skull, smiling, as you started to swim around her skull, caressing the bones.

You looked around, moving the light to accommodate you right, when something reflected the light against you.

Something blue. 

It was right in the middle of the remains of the large dragon.

You swam towards the blue, finding a saddle, chains, and other bones. As the realization hit you, you started swimming faster, extending your uncovered hand, ready to touch the sapphire.

Aemond Targaryen.

As soon as you touched it, you felt some kind of electric shock run through your hand up your arm and chest.

You scanned the bones with your eyes, before returning to the sapphire. It almost seemed to sparked of its own light, it almost felt like it was alive.

The skeleton was still chained to the saddle, even if it was covered in kelps.

You wanted to stay longer, study the surroundings better, but your oxygen tank was slowly reaching its limit.

You sighed and quickly swam back towards the surface, reaching your boat.

You had to buy another tank and go back down there.

You had to.

𓂃𓂃𓂃 𓆉 𓂃𓂃𓂃

You were thrilled, to say the least, about your discovery.

Even if in a dark sort of way, you could finally say that you met Aemond Targaryen.

As soon as you reached home, you let out a little scream and started to jump from the excitement, that you didn’t feel it containable.

During your shower you sang your playlist loudly and shamelessly, you were too happy to care about anything.

You made it.

You still had a smile printed on your face as you walked back in your room, your hair dried, your body covered only by a towel.

Then you heard the doorbell.

You looked back towards the door, confused.

Who could it be?

You weren’t expecting anyone, but maybe your parents returned home earlier than scheduled.

You tightened the towel around your body and you walked to the door.

“Who is it?” You asked through the door.

“You know me.” A male voice said from outside. Your brows furrowed, confusion written on your face, the voice sounded like no one you knew.

“What’s your name?” You tried again.

“You visited me today.” He said with a sigh. “I have your wallet, you lost it.” He added then.

You walked over the door and opened slightly.

White hair, sharp jaw, prominent chin.

“Who are you?” You asked as you felt your heart pumping in your throat. The man turned his face, a devilish smirk on his face as his eyepatch came in your field of view.

“Aemond.” He took a step forward, slamming his hand on your door, making you fall back, the door opening completely. “Aemond Targaryen.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, glancing down at you.

He was tall. You’ve often imagined it, but seeing him towering over you like this, surely made him taller.

You shook your head, confused and terrified.

“That - That’s impossible. You’re dead.” You saw his smirk growing wider at your words. He raised his hand and looked at it.

“I don’t look so dead to me. What do you think, slut?” He took a step forward, but you immediately crawled back.

“This is a sick game.” You shook your head. “You think it’s funny to dress up like him?” Your hand immediately flew to your towel as you felt it loosen slightly around you.

“Dressing up?” He bent down in front of you, so you could see his face perfectly.

The scar, the shape of his face, his hair, even his clothes.

They were perfect. What made you truly believe him though, was when he took off his eyepatch.

A blue sapphire instead of his eye.

And you’ve seen that sapphire, from up close.

It was him.

“N-no… it’s impossible.” You shook your head, completely in denial.

Aemond rolled his eye, his hand moving on the back of your hair, gripping them tightly in his fist.

You whined as your hand flew to his wrist, trying to get him off of you, but he seemed irremovable.

He used the hold on your hair to lift you up from the floor, and he kept his arm raised as he studied your face.

“You want to see just how real I am, whore?” He smirked as he started dragging you back.

“Stop! I’m not a slut, or a whore!” You tried to free yourself, but it all seemed useless.

“Sure you are. Who else would welcome a man dressed like that?” He nodded towards your towel. You whined loudly as he shoved you on the bed, your hands immediately fixing the towel to cover yourself. 

“It's not a dress, it's just a –” He gripped your cheeks in his hand, squeezing them harshly, growling annoyed at your talking.

“I’ve had more silent whores than you. Shut your mouth.” He pressed your head against the mattress as he hovered over you. “Even if…” His hand trailed over your body, over the towel, shamelessly, his eye sparkling with desire. “Not as pretty as you.” He grinned as he started to move the towel.

“No-” You immediately gripped his hands, but he let go of your cheeks and gripped your wrists, using his eyepatch to tie them together over your head. “No!” You squirmed, regretting it immediately as you felt the towel losing even more, letting him see more of your skin.

His eye darkened, his pupil dilated as he looked down at you, keeping your wrists pressed against the bed with one hand as his other hand moved to his belt that was keeping his black leather coat closed. He quickly unbuckled it, taking advantage of your squirming, your head raising to slip it behind your head and closing it around your neck.

You immediately froze as the belt tightened around your throat, making it hard to breathe.

Your gaze immediately fell on him, your eyes widened as you looked at him grin.

“I know, I have quite questionable tastes.” He gave a tug at the belt, the material tightening even more, making you cough and move your hands to the belt to loosen it up enough to breathe easily.

Aemond didn’t stop you, he watched closely as you struggled beneath him.

“You know, the one I had before you was older.” He smirked. “She didn’t like me on top.” He pulled away to take off his coat, then his shirt.

You would have lied if you would have said he wasn’t incredibly sexy.

His muscles flexed at every move he did, as he folded his coat and shirt and placed them on the table, as he took off his pants. His bicep flexed deliciously as his hand wrapped his cock, pumping it to full hardness as he walked back to the bed.

You should have run.

But it was too late anyway. Aemond grabbed the belt again and opened your legs with his hands.

“No, I-I’m not a whore!” You raised your voice, but the sound that came out of your mouth the moment Aemond fucked his cock inside you, was even louder.

It was big.

Big enough to fucking hurt.

You cried out and tried to close your legs, push him away, anything to get him away from you, but all you’ve earned was him pulling the belt, the string wrapped around his gist to make it easier and faster to choke you whenever he wanted.

You arched your back as you gasped for air, your fingers trying to get under the belt, your nails scratching desperately your skin.

Aemond groaned as he stood still for a moment, enjoying the tightness that your spa smile, violated walls were giving to his cock.

“Fuck…” He groaned. “I haven’t felt like this for… Gods I don’t even know how long anymore.” He pulled back for a moment, only to trust back in harshly.

He moved slowly, but deep, and hard.

And you hated it.

You hated it because it was so fucking good.

He finally stopped pulling the belt, so you managed to loosen it again.

You took a deep breath, that one of his thrusts quickly took away.

You moved your wrists down, you pressed them against his abdomen, a weak protest against his movements, but Aemond was quick to yank them away.

“Fucking stay still, you whore.” He growled as he gripped your hips from under your legs, and started thrusting faster, pulling your body back to his, forcing you to meet every one of his thrusts, forcing you to take his cock inside you, his painfully, deliciously long, thick cock.

You could feel your insides begging you to push him away, to make him let go of you, but at the same time, the stinging stretch was becoming pleasurable, your walls slowly coating the skin of his cock with your fluids, making it easier for him to slip back in.

“Starting to like it? Uh?” He chuckled darkly, speaking with arrogance.

He knew he was good.

“Fuck you!” You whined as your back arched, the movement stretched the belt, that tightened slightly around your neck again, but it wasn’t enough to make it impossible to breathe.

It only made your eyes roll back, you head dizzy, and suddenly, the only thing you could feel was him, fucking you like a doll, bringing you a pleasure no one, not even yourself has ever been able to make you feel.

“You’re tight for a whore —” He panted. “So tight —“ He looked down at his cock, how it disappeared from his sight as he pushed inside you, he watched how your cunt would suck him in. 

You moaned loudly, the sound half strained by the belt, as Aemond pulled it again. You knew you had to be ashamed of how much you were enjoying it, or about your expression, of how your mouth hung open, of your tongue falling out. The belt cutting off your breathing was just the cherry on top.

Your head was dizzy, your mind obfuscated by pleasure.

“Look at you.” He scoffed as he started to thrust harder, faster. “Acting out for not wanting it, but now…” He looked at your face, the expression of pure pleasure written all over your features. “So fucked up you can’t even talk. Or protest.” 

You moaned as he kept thrusting inside you, and the sight made something inside Aemond snap. 

He immediately leaned over, placing a hand on the mattress beside your head to keep himself up, his other hand slipping under the belt, closing around it in a fist, and tugging your face closer by the grip. His thrusts became suddenly more intense and harder.

“You don’t even want to. You don’t want to protest.” He growled in front of your face. “You like my cock so much?” He tilted his head to the side, looking down at your face. “You like how I fuck you? How I am reducing you into a complete useless, stupid, whore?” 

You moaned louder, the tip of his cock brushing mercilessly against a sensitive, very sensitive spot inside you, that you didn’t even know existed.

“Shit!” You whined loudly as every muscle of your body tensed, ready to snap. 

Aemond did just that. 

He didn’t stop, he kept moving, he kept wrecking you even through the most powerful orgasm you ever experienced.

You cried out as you squirmed beneath him, your whole body trembling and asking for a break, but he seemed unstoppable.

His eye was fixed on your face as he raised back on his feet, letting go of the belt. He slapped your face before grabbing your hips and lifting them from the bed so he could move you however he wanted.

Your walls were still spasming from your orgasm, and Aemond couldn’t think of something in his life remotely as pleasurable as that.

“Now make me come.” He growled as he deliberately moved your body, his fingers digging in your hips.

“Please, wait –” You sobbed. “Aem -” He slapped you immediately as he heard half his name coming from your lips.

“Shut up.” He growled, positioning your ankles on each side of his neck, both his hands wrapping around your neck, not enough to cut off all of your air, but mostly of it.

“A-Aem –” Your hands immediately flew over his as he started moving faster, his eyes closed as he clenched his jaw. 

He let out a moan, then another one before letting his head fall back, giving you a clear view of his Adam apple moving, and the prominent veins on it.

He tightened his hold on your neck, effectively choking you as he gave you the last few thrusts, shooting his load inside you.

You hit his hands, wrists, his arms, you scratched him, you tried anything to get his hands off your neck, but he wouldn’t let go.

“I’m keeping you.” Those were the last words you heard before it all turned black.

𓂃𓂃𓂃 𓆉 𓂃𓂃𓂃

You woke up sore, confused, and tired.

What the fuck happened?

Ghost Aemond fucking you was surely a strange dream.

“I’m keeping you.”

A shiver went down your back as you heard those words again in your head.

A dream.

You moved the blankets off of you and sat up on the edge of the bed, and as soon as you eyes landed on your thighs, another shiver shook your body.

Bruises. 

The ones a hand would do.

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[harmshake]

Featuring: Roman Reigns x Ivy (Black Fem OC) Word Count: 11k Warnings: 18+, NSFW, language, angst, mentions of death/funeral, smut. Sorry for the delay but as you can see from the word count...this chapter is a beast. Happy Halloween! 🩸

Happy reading! Read more Roman fics by me or msbigredmachine, if you'd like! ✨

One week was starting to feel like an eternity when those seven days lacked the sight of Ivy and Zaia. His woman, whether she wanted to admit it or not, Angelo loved her like she was meant to be his wife. Sure…it took him time to get his head on straight and show it. And sure…he still wasn’t perfect at it. But it was the liquor that tried to make him meaner, angrier, than who he really was, that’s what his AA sponsor had told him, but damn it…Ivy still wouldn’t let him make things right. And now she wouldn’t even let him see his babygirl who he didn’t mean to hurt. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. 

He was just so fucking heated that Ivy had the audacity to allow a stranger to be so close to her, to their daughter, just because he was a classically handsome nigga. Something about that face of his put a small chill through his heart, even as he felt his blood boil when they fought last week. But none of that shit mattered now. Ivy seemed to have chosen that meathead over him, blocking his number so his apologetic texts couldn’t even go through. He had a key to her house still but he didn’t bother showing up when he feared the woman had changed the locks or put a restraining order on him considering the volatile look in her eyes last Angelo saw her…and the fucking evil look on Roman’s face like if he caught Angelo near that house again, he’d go missing.

And it wasn’t like Angelo was scared of that big ass nigga, but more so he felt something instinctive about his safety, something that made his blood curdle when it tried to heat again at the thought of him. Or maybe that was the whiskey burning through him after he tossed back another shot. The bar and lounge he sat in was a bit crowded for a Thursday night, warm bodies pushed up on him on all sides as he leaned his elbows on the wooden counter with his face in his palms. He let out a sigh, or a grunt, or a burp, he couldn’t be sure at this point. He was wasted, though, that was for sure, the first time he’d been wasted in years. He wanted to be disgusted with himself that he let himself get back here after how hard he worked to sober up and be a better man for himself and a better dad for Zaia…but he was so groggy with that fifth shot of Maker’s Mark that he almost felt nothing, almost numb.

Which was a welcome change to feeling hatred. Hatred for how he unintentionally upset his little girl, how he couldn’t hold her and tell her daddy was sorry. Hatred for how Ivy shut him out instead talking, or arguing, it through like they usually did. Hatred for how the reason seemed to be another fucking man who had no business in their business…

“Ay, gimme ’notha one of thessse,” Angelo slurred to the bartender who was passing by with a tray of shots for the rowdy ass group of older women to his left. The guy took one look at him, sucked his teeth, and shook his head, his short locs shaking with it, before Angelo called to him, “I know y’heard me, man!”

The bartender returned a couple of seconds later with an empty tray and still no drink for him as he spoke over the loud Metro Boomin and 21 Savage song playing throughout the bar, the bass of “Don't Come Out The House” trying to drown him out. “You’re cut off. I told you that after the last one, man. Pay your tab and get outta here.”

Angelo tried to refrain from catching an attitude, tried to reason with him…but maybe his words came out more slurred or hostile than he intended because the next thing he knew, the bartender started reaching for something under the bar like Angelo was a threat. And when Angelo started to reach for him, trying to keep him pulling whatever he had hidden under there by pulling him by his shirt collar after he reached over the bar, security was on him like white on rice, handling him like he was a threat neutralized, tossing him outside until he stumbled into the parking lot.

It took everything in him not to switch around and knock that fool upside the back of his bald head as he walked away because even in the haze of his drunken thoughts, Angelo didn’t want to see a jail cell tonight. But the hatred that still surged in his blood wasn’t wearing off. Matter of fact, that shit just made it worse…and it wasn’t the security guard who deserved the smoke. Nah. That was Roman.

Angelo ran his slightly trembling hands over his white t-shirt that had gotten wrinkled from the altercation, the whiskey starting to scorch through the hatred, or fuel it, as he took a deep, shaky breath to calm himself enough to get behind the wheel and pull up to that meathead’s house across town. His car was on the south side of the bar and Angelo staggered past rows of vehicles, having to grab a few by the trunk to get his bearings when either his Jordans caught on the loose gravel of the asphalt, or when he left the street lights behind him as this side of the building was shrouded in darkness. 

Thankfully he could still see his silver Lexus tucked between two black SUVS in the short distance. He could also see the darkness move near his car, a flit of a shadow fitting itself between his vehicle and the building and out of sight. “...Thuh hell?” Angelo said under his breath and blinked, wiping his hand over his face, a wriggle of shame crawling up his spine that he was so drunk that he was seeing shit like that. Or maybe it was just a stray cat. Either way, he steadied himself and slipped into his front seat, swearing to himself he wouldn’t get pulled over or let Roman punk him again tonight…not when he had the glock under his seat for occasions such as this. 

He got the engine going and got going down the road fast, foot heavy on the gas and brain just as heavy as it sloshed with one mission in his skull, the darkness following him as the road was dimly lit with the sparse street lights zipping past him on the side of the pavement. Only the reflectors on the road glared in his vision with his bright headlights lit his path and Angelo wasn’t sure when even those disappeared, that darkness engulfing his view before it was a wide oak tree consuming it at full speed that his brakes didn’t want to keep him from crashing into. His tires screeched on the dewy grass and soft soil and his shocked yelp just was piercing as his foot mashed the pedal that suddenly wasn’t working no matter how many times he stomped on it…that darkness that was after him surrounding him in an instant as everything went to black.

“The Hartford County Sheriff's Office is asking for the public’s help to find Bianca Belair, a 25-year-old woman who is missing,” Linda, the local anchorwoman, said in a monotone as she sat at her news desk. “She was last seen October 19th at one p.m. leaving her place of work, Planet Fitness on Ellington Road wearing a black leotard and black leggings. Anyone with information regarding Bianca’s whereabouts is urged to contact the Hartford County Sheriff’s Office Central Dispatch or dial 911.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Ivy mumbled as the evening news report she peered down at on her iPad zoomed in on a photo of the missing young woman, her pretty, bright smile and long, braided ponytail falling over her shoulder with the bold, black words MISSING appearing right beneath it. She was glad she listened to the news with her AirPods in her ears so Zaia, who was hopefully fast asleep upstairs, couldn’t hear such scary and sad stories. And what a scary and sad image, someone who looked so full of life was missing and potentially in trouble…or dead. Ivy hated to let her thoughts stray to the worst, but with what happened to that other woman, Rhea, and her unborn child, as well as the several other women who wound up missing and murdered…she prayed Bianca would be found safe and sound and soon. 

She sank further into the cushions of her couch and took a sip of her evening hot tea, a blend of lemon and chamomile, usually the perfect after-work potion to relax her nerves when the hospital could be so busy and yet bleak at the same time, but the soothing flavor in her mug didn’t do much soothing with that news still on her screen before it flashed to another. 

“A suspected drunk driver is dead after his car crashed five miles south of the VIBES Bar and Lounge on Thursday night,” Linda said and Ivy shook her head as she tucked her knees to her chest, balancing her iPad against them as she cradled her warm mug in her hands. “Emergency responders were dispatched today after multiple 911 calls reported a crash on the side of Maple Avenue. Upon arrival, they discovered a vehicle, a silver Lexus, had collided with a tree with one person found inside the car, identified as Angelo Harris, aged thirty-three, who was pronounced dead at the scene.”

The mug of tea in her hands nearly spilled into her lap as Ivy suddenly felt numb from the neck down, and yet somehow she felt a vicious shudder slither through her body and sink into the pit of her stomach until she felt violently nauseous, ripping out her AirPods because she couldn’t hear the rest of the story. She wanted to gasp, scream, cry, but all that left her lips was a feeble gurgle that housed her shock. Angelo was…dead? How? He was just in her house last week. He was drunk? He hadn’t drank in years.

And if that feeling of him being in her life and out of it just as fast wasn’t already making her sick, it was the wriggle of the slightest of slight…relief. Ivy didn’t hate the man and certainly didn’t wish death on him, but the stress he had been putting her through was going to send her to an early grave, she was sure of it. It’s why she banned Angelo from ever coming near her or her daughter ever again, especially after he confused and hurt the child with his stupid rage. Yet to hear that he had fallen victim to a drunken accident…it made her feel like maybe she pushed him to it—or maybe he pushed himself to it after the stunt he pulled last week. He was getting more explosive, more angry, and less easy to manage. Maybe his relapse was bound to happen…but Christ, a car fatal wreck?

Ivy shut her iPad off and tossed it to the couch before she all but slammed her mug to the coffee table before she leapt up and down the hall to the downstairs bathroom, her thoughts a fucking jumbled, guilty, sad, anxious, horrified mess, just like her stomach as she threw herself to her knees in front of her toilet, bracing the lid and hunching over. Except the churning bile didn’t come up, only hot, stinging tears that came down from her eyes and dribbled from her chin as she let out a sob. A part of her felt bad to even cry because before she heard that news, she was still grateful about her decision to kick Angelo out of her life…but the other part of her felt the abrupt and disgusting grief of losing a person she once cared about—about her daughter losing her father.

Zaia. How on earth was Ivy going to tell her baby that her daddy was gone? She couldn’t think straight enough to form thoughts let alone words, her tears choking her up as she struggled to quiet herself lest her daughter or Duchess wake up to investigate the noise. But noise sounded from beyond the bathroom, anyway, her cell phone bleating with what she inherently knew was a call from Gemini who definitely was watching the late news and saw the same story. And then another sound blared out, three heavy and steady knocks at her front door, the sudden cacophony in her head and now in her home making her sick to her stomach all over again. 

Ivy couldn’t imagine who it could be as Gemini couldn’t be here that quickly, and she silently prayed it wasn’t Roman, her new, next door neighbor who she hadn’t had the nerve to speak to much in the last week after the physical altercation he got into with Angelo. It wasn’t for a lack of trying on his behalf as he’d left her a hand-written apology letter on what felt like an expensive stationary of weighted paper in a cotton envelope, followed by a couple bouquets of white and pink roses. Yet none of it made Ivy feel ready to deal with a new man in her life when she finally got through dealing with the old one. And absolutely not now.

However, when the knock persisted, a woman’s voice trilled through her door. “This is the Hartford Police Department. We’re here to speak with Miss Ivy Jones regarding Angelo Harris.”

Ivy rubbed at her puffy eyes and cheeks with the back of her sleeve before she scrambled to her feet, flinging herself to the mirror above the sink to check if she looked somewhat presentable as she wasn’t expecting visitors at ten p.m. on Saturday, especially not the fucking cops. They made her nervous, even though she never did anything to make them wary of her, yet she found herself frantically tucking her curly flyaways into her messy top knot, smoothing her shaky fingers along her black sweater, and trying to walk at a normal pace and look normal when she opened the door to see an older, brunette woman and bald man behind her in their blue uniforms standing there with stern looks on their faces.

“Are you Ivy Jones?” the woman officer asked after glancing down at the clipboard in her hands. 

“Y-yeah. I am,” Ivy blubbered, snatching her sleeves over her knuckles to blot at her watery eyes again. The woman’s steely line for lips shifted into a softer sort of grimace to see Ivy visibly disheveled before she flipped through the papers on her clipboard, the officer behind her pointing a flashlight over her shoulder to provide a little more light than Ivy’s porch lights. 

“I’m sorry but we’re here to deliver bad news. Your partner Angelo was killed in a car accident three days ago.” The woman officer paused as she waited for Ivy react, step aside, do something, but Ivy felt stuck, her feet in her fuzzy slippers grouted to her wood floors, her eyes fastened to the dark space behind the officers’ heads, and her head bogged down in too much noise to even hear the officer properly, her thoughts and phone still ringing like a shrill cry for help. “You wanna answer that, ma’am?” the woman officer offered in a soft tone and Ivy blinked twice before she nodded and ripped her feet from where she stood to trod over to her couch and grab her phone.

Fresh tears brimmed her eyes when she saw Gemini’s name and the five missed calls from her as another one came through, and Ivy let them marr her face as she answered and heard her best friend try to soothe her before she could even say a word, likely hearing her subtle snivel on the line. “I am so, so sorry. I can be there in twenty minutes if you want the company, love.”

“Yes, thank you,” was all Ivy could muster up through her tears so thick they clogged her throat. Hearing her best friend’s calm voice amid the chaos gave Ivy a bit of solace, even for that brief call before she hung up and let the police talk her through Angelo’s accident before delivering her a copy of his death report since he had her listed as his next of kin. And she would need every single bit of that solace as she contemplated how to talk her babygirl through what just happened tonight in the morning. 

She made her way upstairs now, tiptoeing as she neared Zaia’s bedroom and slowly twisting the doorknob to not make a sound and disturb her as she poked her head in to look at her sleeping peacefully, thankfully not disturbing Duchess, either, who only lifted her tiny head a tad to witness Ivy gently closing the door behind her. However, when she was halfway down the stairs, another, quieter rap upon her front door made Ivy’s head hurt again as she wondered what the cops had forgotten to speak with her about. She longed for the night to just be done, a gargled, exhausted sigh leaving her lips as she pulled open the door. She swallowed that sigh against her will, though, heart aching in a new, mangled way when she saw it was Roman on her porch, instead. 

“Ivy…I just heard. I’m…I’m sorry.” The depths of his deep voice reached his eyes, dark, deep, and gazing down at her through a lock of his loose, long hair, a remorse in them that she felt try to shudder her bones as he stood before her tall but almost crouched in his position. Wide shoulders sunken and big hands buried in the front pocket of his red, Nike hoodie. His bearded chin downturned with a slight clench that worked through his jaw as he studied Ivy studying him, the surprise on her face to see him seeping out of her slowly as his sympathy for her seeped in. She could feel it, feel how sorry he was not just for Angelo’s accident, but for what happened last week. Sorry that he was part of her troubles, sorry that he upset her enough that she didn’t want to see him, and sorry for Angelo’s demise.

And Ivy knew it to be true, his letter and roses still tucked away in her bedroom, the card lying facedown on her vanity dresser and the flowers in the glass vase they came with and perched on the opposite side. But things between them were just…awkward. And now unsettling as neither of them could have predicted that this would be the way Angelo would stay gone from her life. Something that she had felt Roman wanted to help her with before he put hands on the man, and now she found herself slipping her hands around his waist after a small step towards him, his own hands carefully slipping up her back until he cradled her to his chest, her face hidden in his as she freely wept into it.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” Roman whispered to her again, his warm breath wisping through her hair before he rested his cheek there as he held her as she cried, wordless, aching sounds rasping out of her and muffled by his hoodie as everything and nothing made sense all at once. This man, by all means a stranger, comforting her and that comfort feeling familiar to her, giving her a different taste of the solace she desperately needed. The ugly guilt of that peace wrapped up in him tried to make Ivy cry harder, but Roman’s fingers stroking little circles along her spine tried to soothe the rattle in her bones. 

In the haze of her tears and fears, it felt like another breakthrough of sorts. Just like that moment they shared in her backyard as they held hands…that even in such scary and sad times, there was a glimmer of hope and healing to be found in the seconds that ticked away. Those seconds turned into what felt like minutes as Roman let her cry and cling to him for as long as she wanted, until Ivy glanced up at him with glistening eyes and asked quietly, “Do you want to come in? It’s cold out here.”

Truth be told, she hardly felt that autumn chill with his heat surrounding her, but the goosebumps on her bare legs in her pajama shorts told a different story. Roman nodded once, his full lips tucked in between his teeth as if to lessen a hopeful smile as he followed her inside, the heat of her home almost waning in comparison to his when they settled onto her couch and he put his arm over her shoulder, nestling her to his much bigger and muscular body that she could feel tense up beside her as she rested her head on his chest. It made her wonder if that sudden stiffness in him was because he, too, felt that odd coiling of sin to be so close with a person he’d essentially just met…and yet that coiling of curiosity and warmth kept them close, anyway.

He cleared his throat, Ivy’s eyes on his Adam’s apple shifting and his hand coming up to run over his mouth and grayish beard, his other hand on her arm with fingers still stroking in those little circles, pacing slower now, his voice somewhat gruff and cautious when he spoke softly. “I don’t wanna say the wrong thing here…but I just wanna let you know that I’m here for you. I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about…and I know he wasn’t someone who made shit easy for you, but still. I know you cared about him. In your own way. And I’m sorry, Ivy.”

The apology, like the ones he belted as they stood outside, felt strangely two-pronged to Ivy. Maybe it was the repetition or maybe it was the remorse she still felt in his tone, something lingering in the bass of it like maybe…he felt the same as she did. Sorry that Angelo was dead and sorry that his death was the end to her headaches. That shudder tried to make its way through her again, Roman felt it for certain because he squeezed her to him a little tighter. 

“I’m sorry, too,” Ivy heard herself say, her eyes distant even as they fixated on her abandoned mug of tea, ice cold on her coffee table as Roman’s warmth did the job the little beverage was meant to do. “For not speaking to you after…after all that shit went down. You were just trying to defend me.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. You were only tryin’ to protect your peace,” he reminded her before she felt the tips of his thick fingers beneath her chin to steer her gaze to his. Something a little heavier than remorse swirled in his brown eyes, perhaps more akin to disgrace, like he felt the weight of his actions last weekend nearly crush any goodwill he had built with her. Something she felt heavy in her chest as her heart thudded with his eyes on her like this, looking at her in that way of his that both made her feel his sincerity and his longing to make it right. Roman’s thumb brushed below her bottom lip, his lips already closer than they should be to hers as he searched her eyes to see if she’d accept his next words as the truth. “I need you to know I’ll never treat you like he did. I’ll never put you through anything like that again. Ever.”

His vow touched her lips with his hushed breath she felt on her cheeks, the scent of mint and his cologne filling her nostrils, filling her head with placid thoughts for the first time tonight. Like how hope was closer to her than she thought. Like how soft his lips were when they met hers. So close that their noses nudged together, his skin and even the hairs of his mustache soft as his mouth moved with hers, a delicate kiss that made a delicate smacking sound as Ivy instinctively leaned into him, chasing more of that warmth, her and Roman’s breathing just as delicate until it deepened with a hitch as she slid her hand up his chest, as his hand on her chin slid around to the back of her head, locking them in that delicate moment before a knock at her door erupted the contained silence of her living room.

They faltered back from each other, Ivy’s heart racing and the blissed look on Roman’s handsome face revealing that his was, too, but he composed himself first and quite quickly, a grave look brewing in his eyes as his brows furrowed. “Is that the cops again?”

“No, no…that’s gotta be Gem. She was on her way here,” Ivy replied, slipping off the couch to head to the door and hiding from him her own eyebrows knitting together at the uncomfortable yet thankfully fleeting feeling Roman’s reaction gave her. And when she swung the door open to let in her best friend, she expected the feeling to dissipate altogether as Gemini wrapped her up in a hug…but the embrace was just as fleeting when she spotted Roman on her couch some feet away.

“Oh…hey, Roman. Didn’t expect to see you here,” Gemini greeted him curtly but still plastered a pleasant grin on her face as he approached the women in Ivy’s foyer. Gemini’s eyes flashed to her with a wariness that only she could read and Ivy did her best not to roll her tired eyes because now was not the time for her friend to exercise her judgment of Roman who was only here to support her like she was. 

“He was just leaving...just came over to see how I was doing,” Ivy said after Roman waved two fingers at Gemini with a polite smile that seemed to unnerve Gemini more for some reason. Ivy looked to Roman with regret swimming in her eyes to essentially shoo him away, especially with his kiss still shimmering on her lips, but he seemed to understand as he nodded along to her suggestion, despite Gemini watching him like a hawk as he stepped towards the door. But he didn’t walk through it without turning back to put his arms around Ivy for one last hug…and one last delicate kiss that he planted on her forehead before glancing at Gemini and bidding them both a good night.

Roman was careful to keep the glance simmered, not a glare like it could have been as Gemini wasn’t so careful with how she glowered at him, but regardless, the message was sent. He was going to be a part of Ivy’s life now whether her best friend liked it or not.

Funerals weren’t occasions Ivy attended often, not with Zaia in tow who was bright and understood the dreary meaning behind such occasions. The atmosphere of them was too suffocating and grim and she hated to be engulfed by it in a church where the spirited gospel music tried to encourage a lighter feeling than the one twisted up and gnawing in her stomach. But Ivy hated even more that her little girl had to feel the same twisting and gnawing as she sat in her mama’s lap, her small, round face stained with tears that hadn’t stopped flowing since she had to sit her down and tell her that daddy was with the Lord, her small whimpers in her ear as she clutched a Kleenex that she had given to her but her baby didn’t use as much as she cried into the lapel of Ivy’s black, collared dress as she held her. 

It broke her heart into a million pieces all over again, reliving the news of Angelo’s death through Zaia as her daughter tried to process it the best she knew how: Clutching onto her mama for dear life and shielding her face from the new horror that confined her. Ivy would hold her for as long as she wanted, carrying her as they huddled into the black limo Angelo’s family sent to her home to pick them up for the services; carrying her as they filed inside the chapel and viewed the closed casket as Ivy learned from his cousins who would talk to her that his parents, who handled the funeral arrangements without her, decided it was the best decision since he didn’t look the same after the horrible accident; and carrying her into the church annex where the repast was taking place.

Just as Ivy despised funerals, she despised being surrounded by most Angelo’s family, their self-righteous scowls and downright shrewd stares upsetting her as they watched her sitting with her baby still on her lap when they found their own table with Gemini mercifully at her side…and Roman at the other. Angelo’s relatives, and especially his Christian and overbearing mother, were never too fond of her for not accepting him into her life with open arms—even though they were all aware of the bullshit he put her through time and time again. Instead, they always treated Ivy like the issue, like Angelo’s drinking problems, his struggle into sobriety, and now maybe even his death, was her fault because she didn’t love him unconditionally like they did. 

“We can leave whenever you’re ready. I think you going to the funeral to pay your respects was doing more than enough,” Gemini mumbled in Ivy’s ear after a reproving glance around the room, her hand covering her mouth. The annex was a bit noisy with the clattering of forks on plates, gloomy chitchat, and the like, but even her best friend knew she couldn’t be too sure about who was eavesdropping in on their conversation since it felt like all eyes were on them and who Ivy decided to bring as her support system. And it wasn’t like Gemini didn’t try to warn her, yet she didn’t fight her on it, either, because she wanted her friend to have all the support she could get during this time.

Ivy shrugged her shoulders, half to gently readjust Zaia’s chunky, black bow headband and keep her cozy as she had fallen asleep on her and half to Gemini’s proposal, looking at the barely touched plates of baked chicken, mac and cheese, and greens Gemini had made for her and Zaia. She was seriously contemplating it as she spotted Angelo’s mother, Gloria, who had been talking with the pastor who presented Angelo’s eulogy but was now starting to walk towards them, making her stomach twist again. She felt herself bristle because she was certain the woman had nothing consoling to say to her, not with Gemini already staring her down right back and with Roman, a random-to-her man at her son’s repast, not even his funeral, in his black, three piece suit, holding her hand on his lap beneath the table that wasn’t obvious unless she was intending to glare at it.

“You really have some nerve, you…you harlot,” Gloria hissed at Ivy, the slits of her eyes zeroing in on Ivy before they appraised the man next to her with disgust. “My son isn’t even in the ground before you bring another man around his child! God is ashamed of you!”

“Who do you think you’re talking like that in front of your grandbaby?!” Ivy hissed back, keeping her voice a bit more restrained than Gloria’s to avoid more eyes swarming their way but it was too late. And even then, her voice was drowned out by Roman’s who abruptly spoke at the same time as her, much to her surprise as the bass of it was commanding yet calm and made Gloria’s eyes snap to him. 

“You’re way out of line usin’ that language, ma’am,” Roman said, fingers flexing softly around Ivy’s when she tried to squeeze his and make him hush. Yet he had that grave look in his eyes that she recognized from last week when they were on her couch…a look that made Gloria’s mouth fall open slightly, with awe or fright or both as he continued, “This woman did all she could for your son and that includes bein’ an amazing mother to your grandchild. It’s not her fault what happened to him…and it’s not your concern how she chooses to cope with his tragic mishap.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Gemini hopped up then when Gloria looked like she was about to screech or swing as the older woman raised her hand too close to where Ivy sat before her best friend stood in between them. She glared at Gloria in her big, black and white church hat and chided her, “I suggest you lower your hand outta my friend’s face if you wanna keep it,” but she also turned to chide Ivy as she added, “Get up and let’s go. Now.”

It was like that suffocating and grim air got sucked right out of the room and into Ivy’s lungs as she gathered up her baby, her Gucci mini handle bag, and Roman who followed behind her with Gemini leading the way to the parking lot of the church, those eyes of his family and Gloria burning holes into their backs, leaving Ivy gasping with a fit of rage, despair, and frustration she couldn’t put into words. Gemini took Zaia off her hands to carefully lay her down in the backseat of her Mercedes-Benz before she took Ivy into her arms next.

“Let’s get you home, babe. Y’all are riding with me,” she said to her friend as Roman loomed behind them with his eyes on his black leather loafers before they shot up to meet her glare. That same, simmering, not-a-glare but not-a-kind-look in his eyes as Gemini all but held Ivy away from him.

“I’m parked on the other side of the church…I’ll see you later, if you want, Ivy,” Roman inserted his words as a soft coo, his hand on Ivy’s lower back as she shimmied free of Gemini’s hug to give him one, too, before they parted ways. Both of them being there for her meant the world to her, even if she knew Gemini wasn’t particularly pleased that Roman was allowed in her space on a day like today. 

But what her friend failed to realize, and what she would explain to her when they got back to her place, is that it wasn’t like Ivy was doing anything intentionally malicious, especially not like Gloria had insinuated. She still felt that ugly guilt, that bitter bile on her tongue because she felt solace in Roman, from his kiss, one that she didn’t let happen again since the first one for that very reason. Her attraction to the man, her hopeful feelings trying to spring up from the soil of grief that was sown against their will…she had a dozen feelings trying to overwhelm her without her input since Angelo died. Hell, since before he died.

The sadness, the relief, the hope, the comfort…she needed more of the comfort lest she spiral to a place where no one could find her. And if that comfort was a sin just because it happened to be in the arms of her new friend who was a beautiful and charming man, then God would just have to forgive her. Eventually, so would Gemini.

Yet after they both watched Roman pull away from the church in his black Maserati, the tinted windows of his car masking if he was looking at them as they looked after him zipping down the road, Gemini surely looked to Ivy with nothing vague about her worry as they sat at her kitchen island with the half-full bottle of wine she’d brought over the other day. It was only after they got Duchess to settle down with fresh food and water in her doggy bowls and got Zaia settled into her bed for a nap, Ivy silently thanking Jesus that her baby mostly slept through one of the worst days of their lives. 

“I appreciate you being here for me, but Gem…I don’t like that look on your face,” Ivy vocalized in a concerned utter. Gemini didn’t even try to fix it and instead let the slight wrinkles of her forehead deepen as she frowned at her friend. The lavender tips of her nails anxiously tapped against the bowl of her wine glass before she let out a sigh, and Ivy braced herself for what she had to say.

“I just…I don’t like this, bestie. You know I love you and all I want is to see you and Zaia be okay…but I’m feeling like something isn’t right. With Roman.”

“Gem, please…I think you’re overreacting.”

“Am I? Listen, I didn’t want to make you feel bad about inviting him to the repast because I understood why you did it…but him accepting the invitation after knowing you a whole two weeks? And then him talking to Angelo’s mom like that? That’s not his place at all.”

“Well, look how she started talking to me! He’s my friend and he was doing exactly what a friend does…stick up for me. It’s the same thing you did, too,” Ivy asserted and gestured to her before Gemini shook her head like she wasn’t trying to hear it.

“Difference is I can do that because I know you. He does not. And we don’t know him like that, either. Like…how can you trust a man who acts like that?”

“Like what?” Ivy folded her arms over her chest and tried not to feel offended because she wasn’t sure what Gemini was getting at exactly. 

“I told you something about his energy is off to me…and when you told me about that fight he got into Ange, it clicked. He acts all suave and charming but you told me he beat that man into a pulp almost in an instant. That’s an impulsive anger that men like him try to hide until it jumps out.” Gemini lowered her tone, then, perhaps to keep her niece upstairs from accidentally hearing what she knew was about to be out of pocket. “And who’s to say it jumped out again and that’s why Ange isn’t breathing now.”

“I’m not listening to this,” Ivy shot up from the barstool, her fingertips pressing into her temples as felt the pang of a dreaded headache try to pierce through behind her weary eyes because what the hell was that connection? It made no sense to Ivy other than her best friend being too caught up in conspiracies that she thought she could contrive another one with a man who had done nothing but try to protect Ivy. She swiveled back around to face her, straining to keep her voice even as she asked, “You know what, no. Answer me this. Why would you want Roman to be the reason Angelo is dead and not Angelo who hurt himself? His autopsy showed that he was definitely intoxicated, triple over the limit, when he decided to drive that night.”

“I don’t want that, Ivy! I’m just telling you to keep your eyes open, baby.” Gemini got up, too, and met her on the other side of the island to put her hands on her shoulders. Ivy knew she meant well, she always did, but her timing hardly felt appropriate when she knew Ivy craved comfort, not a damn conspiracy. But her friend’s brown eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses were on her like she was the only one who truly had them open to see what Ivy couldn’t—like Ivy was too blinded by grief or lust or some uneasy mingling of the two. Like she was the only one who could comfort Ivy the right way as she tried to mutter sweetly, “I’m not calling Roman a bad guy because he did stand up for you. But you can never be too sure where guys like him will point their anger next. We know this because of Angelo. So, just be mindful…okay, sis?”

As much as Ivy wanted to protest that she felt no such energy from Roman, none outside of those little bursts of passion when he wanted to defend her, she didn’t want to extend this lecture. She just wanted to crawl into bed, sleep, and wake up when this day was over. “Okay, sis,” Ivy repeated and let Gemini hug her as she put her arms around her friend, too. And with a promise to check on her later, Gemini left her to rest—but not without a promise to herself that she would dig a little deeper into Roman because it was obvious to her that her best friend would not bother. 

Because one thing for certain and two things for sure, Gemini wasn’t in the Neighborhood Watch for nothing. There were too many women missing or dead in their area lately and something about Roman smelled suspicious to her, the stench too close to her friend for her liking with his home right next door. And as Gemini got home and in front of her laptop in her office to bring up the resources she needed to investigate, like the police’s criminal history search and hopefully Roman’s social media, she swore it would have to be over her dead body for Ivy to be his, or whoever was behind these murders, next victim.

The dark sky would have felt like the morning before the sun if there weren’t stars still littered in the black expanse, Ivy’s eyes on them through her bedroom blinds slanted open, letting her know she didn’t sleep long enough for it to be the next day, the horrid day of Angelo’s funeral still present. She grabbed her phone on her nightstand, the time glaring bright as 11:11 p.m. on her screen before she winced and rubbed at her puffy eyes. 

Her first thought was to climb out of bed and check on Zaia until she remembered her daughter was right next to her, her baby crawling under the sheets to sleep beside her mama because she said she didn’t want to sleep alone. Ivy leaned over to kiss her head and kiss Duchess’s furry head, too, since she snuck her way in between them at some point during the night, before she eased up to stretch and fetch a glass of water for her throat that was a bit sore from the week’s worth of crying and emotion wearing on it. Yet just like that one night, the light glowing through her window from the street lights and her neighbor’s window caught her attention before she left her room. Yet unlike last time, Ivy yanked her eyes away before she could spot Roman appearing in her view or her appearing in his…

She padded down to her kitchen, plucked a glass from her cupboard to fill with water from her Brita filter pitcher in her fridge, and gulped a couple of cool, relieving sips as she entered her bedroom to see her phone lighting up by itself in the darkness with a phone call. Ivy expected it to be Gemini as she put her glass down and picked up her phone, but it was Roman’s name on the screen, having exchanged numbers a few days ago to keep in touch should she “want him for anything” as he put it. Yet when she answered, the soft yearning in his deep, slightly sleepy voice sent an unexpected yet pleasant, warm thrill through her as he said her name and stated what he wanted.

“I notice you’re still up…would you like to come over? I wanna see you.”

“I’d like to see you, too…but I have to stay put with Zaia. Wait, though…how did you know I was up? Are you…watching me?” Ivy spoke quietly, teasingly, because as clearly as she could see his bedroom light, surely he could have seen her kitchen light flick on and off when she was in there moments ago. 

“I saw your light on…and I know you see mine,” he said and she could hear his little chuckle on the line. It made her pipe up with a somewhat startled giggle because did that mean he saw her looking through his window the other day? “Come to your bedroom window. So you can watch me, too.”

“I…watch you do what?” Ivy mumbled in an excited hiss she wished she could contain better as she heard Zaia whimper in her sleep and hoped she didn’t perturb her. Yet as she approached her window once more, drawing up the blinds until nothing was blocking the hauntingly beautiful sight of Roman standing in his window, too, almost made an eep escape from her throat as he looked directly at her with a tantalizing grin on his handsome face. He was fully clothed this time, his hair pulled up into a slick bun with his pajamas consisting of a black tank top that showed off the bulging muscles of his shoulders tatted on one side, hugging his cut torso as it tucked into a pair of gray joggers low on his hips, one of his hands shoved into its pocket as he held his phone to his ear. 

“Nothin’ R-rated. Not like the last time.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about...”

“Yeah, right.” They both laughed softly before he said in a hushed tone, “If you can’t come over, maybe we can spend time together like this. If you don’t mind.” Roman winked and Ivy blushed as they locked eyes across the short distance between their respective, dark yards and yet with his voice in her ear, his soothing breathing that was almost in sync with hers, she felt like they were just as close as they were the other day on her couch. 

“I don’t mind…maybe I’ll come over some time this week, too. If my crazy ass work schedule allows it. I have to be back to the hospital tomorrow.” Ivy sighed to herself as she saw Roman frown at her expense, thinking of how she was grateful for her job but not grateful that because of her position, she was rarely allowed time off, even for bereavement. Nurses deserve much better, she thought.

“Take a day off. You’re the boss there, right? God knows you need it as hard as I know you work.”

“I’m the assistant head nurse. Which basically means I do my job and every job the head nurse doesn’t wanna do, soo.”

She heard and witnessed Roman blow a raspberry through his lips and she smiled a bit, especially as he said, “Fuck that. Take yourself off the schedule for this Friday comin’ up.”

“What’s on Friday?” Ivy asked, coiling a few strands of her hair that fell from her bun around her finger. She felt coy to even ask because she had a good idea from how Roman was looking at her with that subtle yet heated glint in his eyes that she could see even from where she stood, could feel smoldering along her skin, too. It sent another heated thrill through her as he confirmed what she was thinking, what she wanted…what she needed.

“You and me. Dinner. I was thinkin’ The Mill on the River. Somethin’ to get your mind off things…escape somewhere as beautiful as you.”

The little, black, strapless dress that Ivy had pulled from her closet was leaving little to the imagination and little to warm her as the fall, evening breeze skirted her skin and shins laced in strappy black, open-toed heels, but at least she had her sage green, faux fur coat to help, as well as Roman’s arm around her waist as he walked with her on the wooden dock bordering the sparkling, black river under the moonlight and fire-lit torches. The bridge led them to the restaurant on the water where Ivy felt in awe to have never dined despite living in Hartford for three years—but it would only make sense because the last man in her life unfortunately never bothered to take her anywhere, and any and all of her free time she spent picking up shifts at the hospital or enjoying her daughter’s company while she was still young and enjoyed hers, too, Zaia calling Ivy her best friend.

Her little babygirl was her best friend, too, her adorable face one she loved to see each and every day, her precious laughs the reason she’d do anything to make her smile, her favorite Disney Princess dolls and video games why she pushed herself to work and provide a life that made her daughter want for nothing. Ivy felt especially indebted to maintaining the life her daughter deserved now that she was the only parent that could, which is why she wanted to feel guilty about using her PTO to take off this one day. She wanted to feel guilty in general, what with being away from Zaia and with Roman’s fingers gently digging into her hip as he held her close when they stood in the lobby of The Mill, the heat of him and in the fine dining room feeling good as they stood enclosed within rustic brick walls decorated with lantern lighting and pristine, white cloths on the tables. 

However, even Gemini had given her grace when she picked up Zaia and Duchess earlier that day, packing her niece, her overnight bag, and the puppy’s kennel into her Mercedes, Zaia’s favorite video games and Duchess’s favorite toys in tow to keep them busy at her house across town and potentially overnight should Ivy want to enjoy her evening with Roman that long. Ivy was shocked that her best friend cosigned the date night after the earful she gave her earlier in the week, but she knew it was likely because she knew deep down that Ivy deserved a night off, just as Roman had said. Ivy knew she deserved it, too…but that didn’t make the complex knot of feelings settling into her heart as she sat across from him during dessert any easier to deal with.

But something about the way he talked, the way the intelligence he possessed extended beyond his work in finance but into philosophy; the way he made her think about life and death; made her laugh to ease the heft of such a conversation; and made her tremble with the glint in his eyes as the lowlights of the room brought out the warmth in them, the chocolate brown of them, staring at her sweetly as he spooned his crème brûlée into his mouth as she dipped her spoon into hers. She felt that knot try to unwind more and more… 

Maybe the glass of Cabernet with her lobster pasta helped, too, as Ivy didn’t drink often because of Angelo. Yet the glass had to be doing its job as the brief thought of him didn’t cloud her mind as it did before, instead it moved along as Roman’s eyes moved from hers to her lips that she licked at when a bit of custard spilled there. He licked his, too, but there was nothing there as far as she could tell, just the plush pink of them as they smiled at her, looking more alluring than usual in his steel gray suit and black shirt beneath that formed to his muscles. And again…maybe that was because of the wine…or because of how he purred across the table to her in his captivating voice, “I don’t want this night to end after dessert…care to join me for a nightcap at my place?”

“A ‘nightcap?’” Ivy asked back, wiping at her mouth with her napkin as he nodded with a small sip of his water.

“An after-dinner drink. Something sweet, like placin’ the cherry on top of a lovely evening,” Roman responded. The idea lingered in her thoughts for a moment as Ivy realized it’d be the first time she’d step foot in his home…finally seeing more of the man who was both getting closer to her heart but still a mystery to it because that was one thing Gemini had right. She didn’t know Roman as well as she could…but she’d like to...

“Yeah, that sounds nice…just one drink,” Ivy stated. “I don’t wanna be out too late and abandon Gem with my babies.”

“Of course,” Roman agreed. And once he paid for their dinner, escorted her to his Maserati, drove them back to their quiet, lush cul-de-sac where the lights of their neighbors were off in the still of the night, Ivy followed him up to his wraparound porch and inside his house where he flipped on his lights to illuminate the space of his home that opened up to sleek wooden floors and a crystal chandelier as hung just above his staircase off to the right. 

Yet after he took her coat and purse to hang on the hook by his door, he led her to the left into a room where there was a glass dining table with marble legs, a design matching the coffee table she remembered the young movers hauling into his place the day she met him. Roman strolled to the glass bar behind it as he grabbed two crystal whiskey glasses and lifted a well-aged Glengoyne scotch from the many bottles on the shelf, Ivy taking a couple tentative steps behind him as she tried not to gawk at the fine taste he had for décor, like the colorful paintings on his walls of mock Jackson Pollock’s—or maybe they were originals considering his income—and the lavish, sterling silver picture frames on the opposite wall near the window.

Ivy couldn’t help but stare at the woman in those pictures, her deep brown skin the same shade as hers, her wavy hair dark and falling down her back like hers did now as she wore it down tonight, and her small waist and wide curves reminding her of her own as Roman had his arm around them in each photo, his chin on her shoulder or forehead pressed to hers, their engagement pictures from the look of them...and from the look of them, Roman seemed to have a type of a woman he preferred…Ivy found it intriguing.

“She’s gorgeous,” Ivy observed aloud in a soft voice before she looked over her shoulder at Roman coming closer with her drink in his hand. She took it from him with a small sip, the bittersweet cherry flavor warming her chest before she added, “I think it’s nice that you honor her memory like this.”

“She was…and thank you. We can, um, sit in the living room if this makes you uncomfortable,” Roman said almost sheepishly as he stood next to her with his drink hovering near his lips as he waited for her response. 

“No, it’s fine. I’d like to know more about her…if you’re okay with talking about her,” Ivy said and he pulled out a chair at the dining room table for her and sat down facing her, his eyes flitting to his photos again before they landed on Ivy with what looked like gentle relief. 

“Elesha was…an angel. Kind to everyone she met and I mean everyone…even people who didn’t deserve it,” Roman said with a small shake of his head and a smile, making Ivy smile, too. “I think that’s one of the reasons it’s so…difficult…proccessin’ how someone so kind, so full of light like that could be taken away by somethin’ so mean and foul. Liver disease. She didn’t survive the surgery to replace the organ.” Roman’s features became wrought with that grief she knew he was still holding on to, grief she knew all too well herself. 

“She sounds like she was incredible. She didn’t deserve that. Neither did you,” Ivy expressed, her mouth feeling raw with a twinge of fear that she was speaking out of turn. But Roman nodded with a sniffle, tossing back the rest of his scotch like he needed it to singe his throat of the pain welling in it. 

“It’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with. Even the move here…I didn’t want to leave our house. I lived alone for about a year. But it’s like…we built that house together, you know? Planned to raise a family together in that house. But without her there…I just couldn’t be there without her.”

She slowly placed her hand on top of his when he rested it on his knee, hoping it would lull him as it did before…but when his eyes looked wet with tears she could tell he was trying not to let fall, she pulled him into a hug with her arms around his neck. Roman nuzzled his nose to her neck as he hugged her back and she felt his warm breath there as he sniffled again when Ivy let her fingers swirl on his back in his suit jacket, drawing those little circles he did on her that felt good, calming, praying it would have the same effect on him. 

And when Roman grasped her closer in the hug, nearly pulling her into his lap as he murmured, “Thank you, Ivy,” she knew he meant it and appreciated her like she appreciated him. Like friends who appreciated each other. Friends who pressed their lips to her neck with those delicate kisses she’d been thinking of but didn’t dare ask for or allow herself to want because it all felt like the wrong timing…but his mouth felt right as it trailed those soft kisses gingerly up her throat, along her jaw, and, at last, on her lips for a tender moment before that gaze of his was on hers, intense and heated as they parted, as he confessed under his breath, “Sorry…I’ve just been wantin’ to do that again. Is that wrong?”

“No…s’okay. I did, too,” Ivy breathed back, the air in her getting stolen by the feel of his fingertips slightly digging into the small of her back, by how she wanted to feel them inch onto her hips and maybe her thighs…

“Yeah?” Roman breathed, too, before he rested his forehead on hers, feeling her quiver under his touch as he traced the seams of her dress down her left hip. “I got the feelin’ there was a line we drew after the last time…a line I didn’t wanna cross with everything that’s happened. But…”

His fingers caressed lower now, finding the bare skin of her thigh where it met the hem of her dress. It was like he could read her mind as Ivy watched him watch her eyelids flutter when he teased a finger towards the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. “But?” she tried not to whimper.

“But…if you want this…I want it, too, beautiful,” Roman whispered before he retracted his hand from her thigh to slip around her throat, the surprise of his sudden yet agile grip forcing that whimper she tried to swallow to tumble out. He inhaled it with another kiss that felt as deep as the curiosity still coiled in her belly, spreading to her core like delicious sin to yearn for someone she shouldn’t yearn for right now. But he tasted just as delicious as his tongue curled on hers, sweet like scotch, as well as his words tasting tempting and sweet as he uttered in a growl, “What do you want, Ivy?”

“You. I…want you,” she replied through his kisses, his mouth consuming hers with a hunger yet a sophisticated deft that gave her just enough to desire more. It was almost like it was on purpose, like he was testing if she meant it, testing his grip on her throat with a little squeeze that made her let out a pitiful moan. 

Pitiful because the comfort she craved felt snug with his hand on her, felt hot like his kisses, felt aching like his voice when he grunted back as he suckled the tip of her tongue…it was comfort like this she couldn’t give to herself, couldn’t get from the last man in her life…

“What do you want from me, darling?” Roman’s strong hands fell to her waist, hoisting her up until she sat on the table before him. He remained seated in his chair as he slowly spread her thighs open, just enough that the black lace of her thong peeked at him from beneath her dress, his palms slowly massaging up her inner thighs with wide thumbs nearing the heat that called to him, telling him exactly what Ivy wanted. She gasped with another whimper when she watched Roman’s head fit between her legs, his lips just as delicate on her skin as they were on her upper body, all of her body trembling in his hands when his eyes drifted up to hers as he demanded after each kiss, “Tell…me…I’m listening.”

Ivy couldn’t remember the last time a man asked her what she wanted and waited with patience for her to respond, let alone make her this damn wet with just his kisses and words as she felt the cling of her thong to her pussy before Roman’s lips dipped there for a kiss over the damp fabric. “I want you to make me feel good,” Ivy moaned the honest truth. She’d gone too long with the bare minimum, the good enough, or the almost there. Years of putting another man before herself because she thought it would make her a better mom but it only made her a bitter woman. She wanted—no, needed more. 

And Roman seemed to understand as his lips grazed at her thong and his thumbs hooked at the strings, moaning back, “Lay back then, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

She let herself settle onto her elbows, her mind trying to slosh with a fervid, fuzzy warmth from the nightcap and from Roman as he rolled her thong down her legs, past her heels, and onto his floor before he placed her thighs on his shoulders. The silk of his dark hair swept off his face into his signature bun still felt soft on her skin, as did his beard as he wet it with a kiss that swiftly grew messy from his mouth savoring how she drooled on his tongue that was in no rush to push and flit and thrust and lick and explore the soft folds of her pussy. Ivy wanted to feel ashamed of how her airy moans echoed in the silence of his vast home, but he gave her no reprieve to feel anything but good, so good she couldn’t bother to choke the sound with her hand over her mouth as that hand came down to fondle the back of his head, keep him where his tongue finally curved around the shape of her clit, slow flicks of it widened to make her feel him all over it.

“Taste so fuckin’ good. I knew you would…sweet girl like you,” Roman groaned to her pussy, biting his lip as he looked at her before a mischievous smirk appeared on them. “I think that’s my third or fifth compliment…and you still owe me two.”

“Mmm, fuck,” Ivy bleated instead when he swept his tongue over the pearl of her clit, but he pulled back once more with a cute shake of his head.

“Talk to me nice, baby. Tell me how good I’m eatin’ this pussy,” he commanded, the bass of his voice rolling through her as he held her still in his hands to keep that pussy in his face as he wagged the tip of his tongue along her sweet spot.

“Oh, god…I-I like what you’re doing with your tongue…just like that,” Ivy hissed, her heart pounding in her ears from the rush of sweet blood in her veins as he kept flickering his tongue from side to side.

“One more,” Roman urged her with a sloppy, audible kiss to her pussy that made Ivy want to crawl up the table but his grip on her was tight. She was about to lose her grip on reality as he made her feel unreal…

“You’re gonna make me cum already…Jesus, yesss,” Ivy panted, that heat ever-present between them spiking with the buck of her hips as Roman studied her squirming on the length of his tongue. The look in his handsome, hooded eyes was confident and lethal, like he didn’t need words to tell her to cum for him, letting the ripple of his skilled tongue on her spot and a thick finger carefully nudging inside of her until she clenched around it as he found her other spot do the talking for him. Ivy talked enough for the both of them, anyway, as the heat in her core licked at her like supple flames until she dripped on what had to be the expensive wood finish of his dining room table, fluttering in his mouth as she tried not to shout his name and shouted to heaven how he made her feel. Which felt better than good, better than healing—it felt divine. 

“I—I can’t take anymore. Please,” Ivy whined as her trembling hands in his hair that had been keeping him close tried to push him back. But she felt Roman’s cool breath scatter along her wet warmth with a devious chuckle, his mouth still suckled to her clit before he pulled away with a small slurp for a few seconds.

And only a few seconds when Roman licked at his lips, glossy with her wet, and stroked his finger in her, pulsing until she could only see his knuckle and cried out from the tingle of over-stimulation that tried to make her eyes see the back of her head as he reminded her, “You said you wanted me to make you feel good, right? Well…I’m just gettin’ started,” and brought his mouth back to her.

. . .

The Boy Next Door: Chapter Three

Thanks for reading and thanks again to this anon for the story idea. Your replies and reblogs would be much appreciated if you enjoyed!

Check out our TBND masterlist with all the chapters here (masterlist and graphic designs by msbigred!). And join our TBND tag list here, if you wanna! ❤️

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[jadeshifting]

— THE OWLS ( YOUR GUIDE TO KEEPING SANE DURING EXAM SEASON )

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

OWLs—the stuff of sleepless nights, whispered complaints, and ink-stained hands—are coming for you whether you like it or not. here’s what’s in the tea leaves: preparation is key, panic is optional but heavily practiced, and your ability to survive depends on cleverness, caffeine, and a slightly (for some, VERY) unhinged sense of determination

★⋆. — THE EXAM SETUP.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

LOCATION … the Great Hall, stripped bare of all its usual charm—no enchanted ceiling, no fancy food, just rows of wooden desks, looming professors, and energy as stiff as a petrified mandrake

SUPERVISORS … professors plus a handful of Ministry examiners (who look like they were brewed in a cauldron labeled “evil.”) they’re watching you like hawks—no cheating, no spells up your sleeve, and Merlin help you if you sneeze

FORMAT … you get two parts for each subject:

no.1 — the written exam : essays, tricky multiple-choice, and fill-in-the-blanks about everything you’ve (hopefully) learned. expect brain busters that make you question your life choices and every single class you’ve ever dozed off in

no.2 — the practical exam : here’s where your wandwork is scrutinized. think Charms cast on demand, Defense Against the Dark Arts duels under examiner supervision, and Transfiguration spells that can’t afford a fumble

★⋆. — THE SUBJECTS YOU’LL FACE.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

TRANSFIGURATION.

— expect : turning porcupines into pincushions, teacups into toads, and zero room for error

— pro-tip : precision is the name of the game here. showoff moves will backfire, and no one wants to see a toad halfway stuck as a teacup (ew)

CHARMS.

— expect : summoning spells, levitation charms, and intricate wand movements that require a steady hand

— pro-tip : practice non-verbal spells—they’ll hand out bonus points like candy

POTIONS.

— expect : brew a tricky potion under timed pressure—one misstep and you’re cooking up a classroom evacuation

— pro-tip : read the instructions twice, prep your ingredients like you’re prepping for war, and for Merlin’s sake, don’t spill

DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS.

— expect : dueling simulations and counter-curse demonstrations

— pro-tip : quick reflexes and confidence sell it. a well-timed Protego will earn you a lot more than panicked flailing will

HERBOLOGY.

— expect : repotting aggressive plants, identifying magical herbs, and dodging venomous vines trying to choke the life out of you

— pro-tip : gloves. always gloves. and don’t scream—it riles the plants

CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES.

— expect : feeding, identifying, and handling creatures that may or may not want to eat you

— pro-tip : be gentle, know your creatures, and keep snacks handy—both for bribing beasts and calming your own nerves

HISTORY OF MAGIC.

— expect : essays about goblin rebellions, dates, names, and enough dull facts to knock a troll unconscious.

— pro-tip : memorize key events, and for the love of Merlin, don’t fall asleep during the exam

ASTRONOMY.

— expect : sketching star charts in the dead of night and pinpointing celestial bodies under pressure

— pro-tip : coffee beforehand, steady hands, and a cloak because midnight chills will be the thing that takes you out if you aren’t prepared

DIVINATION.

— expect : interpretations of tea leaves, crystal balls, or dreams (bonus if you actually predict something !!)

— pro-tip : make it sound convincing. a little flair in your “visions” goes a long way

ARITHMANCY.

— expect : complicated magical equations that make everyone want to die

— pro-tip : if numbers scare you, study harder. there’s no winging this one

★⋆. — THE PANIC TIMELINE.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

2 MONTHS OUT … the studious ones hit the books. everyone else starts to think about hitting the books

1 MONTH OUT … libraries turn into battlegrounds, textbooks become pillows, and caffeine dependence hits the damn roof

THE WEEK BEFORE … fears, existential crises, and the desperate hunt for last-minute tutors. study groups form out of thin air, and everyone’s all of a sudden best friends with the top students in their year

THE NIGHT BEFORE … cramsville. you’ll see students muttering incantations in their sleep, surrounded by half-eaten chocolate and ink stains. sleep is for the weak

★⋆. — TIPS FOR SURVIVAL.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

SNACKS ARE SACRED . chocolate frogs, pumpkin pasties, and licorice wands can fuel the studying like you wouldn’t believe. bring some to exams if you can, for the morale boost

STUDY SPOTS . the Hogwarts library is a blessing and a curse—full of knowledge and unrelenting Ravenclaws hogging every desk. stake your claim early or find an undiscovered nook—behind the Herbology section works wonders

TAKE BREAKS . when your brain feels like mashed mandrakes, step away (you’re not a house elf, you need to take five.) grab a butterbeer, take a walk on the grounds, or sit by the lake and yell existential questions at the giant squid—it’s weirdly therapeutic

FIDGETING . carry a worry stone enchanted with calming runes, or mess around with a stress-relief charm that makes sparks dance between your fingers

SELF-STUDY SPELLS . a mild Calming Draught or a Focus Charm won’t hurt, but don’t go overboard. no one likes a jittery potion accident

DON’T SKIP SLEEP . use a mild Dreamless Sleep Draught if you’re prone to anxiety-fueled nightmares about flunking Charms and accidentally turning yourself into a hedgehog

LUCKY CHARMS . wear something lucky—maybe your favorite socks, a brooch, or that enchanted bracelet that Auntie Freya swears boosts brainpower. confidence comes from the little things

KEEP PERSPECTIVE . keep the big picture in mind: your future career doesn’t rest solely on your Arithmancy grade, and life goes on even if you confuse aconite with asphodel (it happens)

★⋆. — THE AFTERMATH.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

once you’ve handed in that final exam parchment, it’s out of your hands, so don’t spiral. sleep for three days, binge chocolate, drink yourself half to death under a strobe light and celebrate with your friends—party like it’s a victory (whether you aced it or bombed.) when your results arrive, just remember: OWLs are a big deal, but they’re not everything. you’ve got magic, and magic finds a way :)

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[shadowfoxsilver]

Return of darkness

(Origins untold)

The claw went farther down the opening of the sky, slicing down the night sky with ease as the ominous hues of another world shimmered from behind it and a large dragons horn could be seen. Before long the opening fell free and the sky fell open like a piece of paper as a rift to the dark universe was opened. The wyvern who had opened it was quick to fly free and cast their shadow across the landscape with a screech that echoed across the world itself. It was the Evil Key Beast, back to get after the creator that had avoided him for so long.

From the rift three figures also escaped. The evil key trio! Ready to aid their leader at a moments notice but also ready to track down the one who had spent so long evading their sight. A dark clone who had left and mimicked the form of someone else in order to blend in! The evil trio knew the clone was there though. They just had to find it. Dark Etaina was silent as she took flight once the others landed. Swiftly exploring the tree to see where the dark clone was hiding. Dark Shamira went to examine the dark corners, leaving a trail of sticky goo from her mouth that would trip anyone who stumbled close. Dark Sigurd slithered off to search outside the area.

Dark Jess swallowed as she watched the three forms scatter. The Evil Key Beast remained flying around the tree, his shadow casting ominously at every flap of his wings. The chaotic energy crackled as he moved. The ground seemed to bristle with the unstable forces as well. The grass wilting and turning dark as crystals of chaotic force began to grow once more. These Nega Crystals resonated with chaotic intent. The sources of power that Nega Lightning Cat Scapolite often relied on and the reason she could freely move around in the domain without much issue.

Yet Nega too seemed unsure of what was happening. The rift had already closed again and she couldn’t see a way to access it. If Jess had been stolen away, was she took to the evil world that Dark Jess had been from? Her ears flicked slightly as she turned to see the Nega Crystals sprout from the trees roots and emerge from the lifeless ground where grass once grew. She held only a piece of a Nega Crystal herself. Yet now the larger ones had appeared after years of being unseen! The air crackled with purple and green lightning bolts! She had to find Dark Jess! The dark clone had already flown somewhere.

So Nega disappeared back into the shadows, searching for the spot where Dark Jess was going. The dark clones dark aura seemed to be coming from the highest part of the tree where she had seen the Evil Key Beast heading moments ago. Was DJ going to face off against the one who had created her? Nega knew that wouldn’t end well! So she scurried faster in the shadows, glowing eyes and claws and markings all that could be seen aside from her dark gem that dimly lit up as well.

The top of the tree wasn’t the easiest place to reach, after all. It was a mass of branches and held portals to other universes at every end of the winding branches that grew.

(Look! An update! To the story! xp)

[revivedredeemermareu]

I just gotta know...how do the ancients keep making yn come with them to face the beasts after going through BS with them. Do they have a super secret plan Z bribe? Like a bribe y/n can never resist and that's how they keep doing it? The snack to y/n's Scooby-Doo? Lmao!

Like now I can't help but imagine the cookies know about a treat y/n adores so much and they usually just give y/n the treat but since the cookies on both good and evil sides know y/n loves it so much and want y/n happy, they all made like a secret agreement to never use it as a bribe to bribe y/n because of it being so tempting to y/n...it's practically cheating using it. So they only do it in the most dire/desperate situations...

Ancient: come on y/n, you have to come with me/us to face [beast]

Y/n: NO! you can't make me! They are too scary and powerful and I already had my fill of them!

*after multiple different attempts to get them to come...*

Ancient: then you left me with no choice

*they go off...and then come back with the bribe.*

Y/n: wait...wait is that-

Ancient: would you do it for a [insert bribe here]

Y/n: OH YES YES YES!!!

or if you wanna add spice...imagine if it's treated very seriously like dead serious but then it's anticlimactic like...I'll use a bag of chips as a place holder for ultimate bribe...like it's a type of treat or object or idk but again gonna use place holder for example:

The ancients, the legendaries, dark enchantress, the beasts...all gather into a secret and hidden location. Each one of them held a key and all inserted it into the various key holes hidden all around the area but close by. With a single nod to time it, they all turn their keys at the exact same time. A thing rises from the ground...and after scanning finger prints...and a verbal satement spoken by the one who claimed they needed the bribe:

Pure vanilla (as an example): I, pure vanilla, have tried everything to get y/n to do what we really needed them to do...but all else failed...this is the final option and I choose to use it. I once again swear on the secret order of the y/n bribe that I will only use this bribe in dire circumstances and never use it to selfishly against our precious y/n. May y/n live happily!

(Or do some declaration along those lines lol!)

...it opens...and out rises a single bag of chips...which the cookie takes. The others nod then head off. .

(Just a secret society of the ultimate y/n bribe Lol!)

Instead of a bag of chips...

One million Rainbow Cubes is very much enough to bribe you on going back to Beast-Yeast.

[mmmilkweed]

Do you believe in a shadow milk redemption arc 🤔

The keyhole/key symbolism of them oh my god I'm going feral.

The way SM could've crumbled PV any second he wished, but didn't, to test him? To torture him?

Even despite the dark truth that SM could not accept and fell to corruption for, PV awakens and chooses a path of light

Pure vanilla becoming the key for SM, making it known that he can in fact, y'know... Not be evil

PV awakened despite the corruption (the origin of cookies, how they are made to be eaten, his whole life being a lie, etc...) due to his immense strength and sheer will to stay with his virtues, HE LITERALLY DID NOT FALTER (I am not normal about them lmao)

Keys symbolise new openings, new beginnings

With PV quite literally becoming a key to let It be known to SM that even under the heavy weight of such cruel truths, it doesn't have to mean becoming evil

What would happen if PV were to truly open am to that new possibility? For SM to truly try to redeem himself? Is he too far gone to go back?

(but anyway I like the idea of awakened PV just... Guiding SM to be kind. I still can imagine him being a bit wild and unpredictable, but PV would aim to guide him to make the right choices.. and maybe give him a "reward" that night if he behaved well?)

hey op! I think we should get married (just don't tell my current wife)

I personally love the idea of the beasts getting redeemed! Mostly bc i feel like them getting resealed is dumb and lazy. And I cannot live without Shadow Milk cookie. but on the same coin - Idk if i want that! I love Smilks personality as is currently, and having him become kinder feels like it'll strip it all away (but its soooooooo much better than crumbling him or resealing)

but omg the shenanigans awakened pv guiding smilk would prompt.... reminds me of this fic. My favorite fic. everyone should read it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54490117/chapters/138047134 i need to put both the anon and the author of this fic in my basement

[lastofthemadones]

Long Live Evil has me by the throat and I made a Key playlist

(I don't have a spotify account so it's on Youtube Music don't hate me) find it here

Take Me to Church - Hozier

Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies, I'll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife

2. I Love You Like an Alcoholic - The Taxpayers

One last kiss, I love you like an alcoholic, One last kiss, I love you like a statuette, One last kiss, I need you like I need a broken leg

3. Oceanographer's Choice - The Mountain Goats

Look at that, Would you look at that, We're throwing off sparks, What will I do when I don't have you, To hold onto in the dark?

4. Howl - Florence + The Machine

The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound, I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground, And howl, Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers, Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

5. From Eden - Hozier

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago, Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword, Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know, I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

6. Bad Things - Jace Everett

I don't know what you've done to me, But I know this much is true, I wanna do bad things with you

7. It Will Come Back - Hozier

Don't let me in with no intention to keep me, Jesus Christ, don't be kind to me, Honey, don't feed me, I will come back, It can't be unlearned, I've known the warmth of your doorways, Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you

8. Pumped Up Kicks - Foster The People

All the other kids with the pumped up kicks, You better run, better run outrun my gun

9. Hurt - Johnny Cash

Everyone I know goes away, In the end, And you could have it all, My empire of dirt, I will let you down, I will make you hurt

10. We Will Commit Wolf Murder - of Montreal

Something's terrorized my psyche to get even, Lately, you're the only human I believe in

11. Get Busy Living Or Get Busy Dying (Do Your Part To Save The Scene And Stop Going To Shows) - Fall Out Boy

I used to obsess over living, Now I only obsess over you

12. Fever - Magpie Cinema Club

Romeo loved Juliet, Juliet she felt the same, but when she put her arms around him, He said, "Julie baby you're to blame, Thou giveth fever"

13. Seven Devils - Florence + The Machine

See, I was dead when I woke up this morning, I'll be dead before the day is done, Before the day is done, And now all your love will be exorcised, And we will find you saying it's to be better now

14. Dust Bowl Dance - Mumford & Sons

There will come a time I will look in your eye, You will pray to the God that you always denied, Then I'll go out back, and I'll get my gun, I'll say, "You haven't met me, I am the only son"

15. Monster - Ron Pope

Make me a monster, Make me a beast, Prey on my weakness, Become my disease, I've been lovesick and empty, Cold and I'm trembling

16. Dirty Little Animals - Bones UK

It makes your blood run hot, It makes your spit taste sweet, It makes you feel more alive, Than you have ever been

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: High Fantasy

High fantasy (or epic fantasy) is a fantasy subgenre in which the story takes place in a setting very unlike Earth and deals with world-threatening forces.

The story might feature:

fantastic creatures

historic or unusual technologies

magical elements

other unearthly elements

High fantasy does not need to incorporate Western fantasy tropes like swords or dragons, though these are common characteristics of the genre.

High fantasy resides underneath the larger umbrella of the fantasy genre.

Other types of fantasy fiction include low fantasy, historical fantasy, wuxia, urban fantasy, sword and sorcery, and dark fantasy.

Characteristics of High Fantasy

A non-Earth setting: The key element of high fantasy (and what distinguishes it from low fantasy) is a setting unlike Earth. This “secondary world” might have many different things that make it distinct from Earth, including different animals, plants, races and cultures, cities, civilizational structures, belief systems, and more.

A world-level conflict: A major element that distinguishes high fantasy from other kinds of fantasy (like sword and sorcery) is a high-stakes conflict—one that usually puts the entire world in jeopardy. High-fantasy plots often use the archetype of good versus evil to further distinguish the “good guys” from the “bad guys.”

A hero: While it’s not a strict requirement of high-fantasy literature, most high-fantasy books feature a main hero who must fight off the evil forces and save the world. In many cases, this hero begins in a childlike state and must mature rapidly to stand up to the conflict. Alternatively, they might go on an extensive quest (or “hero’s journey”) to gain the knowledge and skills necessary to face the opposing forces.

Fantastic creatures: Many high-fantasy stories incorporate unearthly creatures into their stories—these fantasy species can include dragons, unicorns, vampires, or beasts of urban legend.

Historic or unusual technologies: Most high-fantasy stories take place in worlds with much different technology than currently exists on Earth. These stories often incorporate swords, knives, hand-to-hand combat, and other historical technologies or fighting styles.

Magic: Many high-fantasy stories have a magic system the fantasy characters use or are aware of, and the magic might be a powerful tool or a major force on the plot of the story.

High Fantasy vs. Low Fantasy

While book critics disagree on the differences between high fantasy and low fantasy, the most common definitions offer only one main distinction: setting. High-fantasy stories occur in a non-Earth or secondary world, while low fantasy stories take place on Earth or in a primary world very similar to it.

Examples: High Fantasy

A Song of Ice and Fire series by George R. R. Martin: In A Game of Thrones and the subsequent books in his series, Martin describes a fantasy world of two continents, Westeros and Essos, locked in political turmoil between warring families.

The Chronicles of Narnia series by C. S. Lewis: This series follows a group of siblings and their friends as they fight off an evil ice queen. Lewis set his fantasy novels in both the real world and an alternate dimension. Some critics categorize these novels as part high fantasy, part low fantasy.

The Cosmere works by Brandon Sanderson: The author designed a universe called the Cosmere, and he sets many of his novels and short stories on different planets within this interconnected universe. Notable works in the Cosmere include the Mistborn book series and The Stormlight Archive series.

The Discworld series by Terry Pratchett: Beginning with The Colour of Magic in 1983, the Discworld series comprises more than forty works with various recurring characters and storylines, including a cowardly wizard named Rincewind, a community of witches, and a personified version of death.

The Earthsea Cycle series by Ursula K. Le Guin: Comprising six novels and nine short stories, The Earthsea Cycle follows characters in the fictional land of Earthsea, a series of small islands and archipelagos with different cultures, magic, and beliefs.

The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin: Many readers describe The Fifth Season as a science fantasy book—a combination of science fiction and high fantasy. Set on a supercontinent called the Stillness, N.K. Jemisin’s book features a large caste system with a complex social structure.

The Green Bone Saga by Fonda Lee: Made up of Jade City, Jade War, and Jade Legacy, Lee’s series takes place on a large island called Kekon. When world-building, Lee set out to create a fantasy series that didn’t center itself around tropes of medieval Europe, which has been common to many other high-fantasy stories.

The Lord of the Rings books by J. R. R. Tolkien: Readers and critics consider The Lord of the Rings trilogy to be archetypal Western high fantasy. The trio of books and Tolkien’s prequel, The Hobbit, take place in a fantasy realm called Middle Earth and feature communities of elves, dwarves, wizards, and hobbits.

The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss: The first novel in Rothfuss’s series called The Kingkiller Chronicle chronicles one man’s retelling of his epic life in a fictional world called Temerant.

Source ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Fantasy Fiction Continuum

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Of all the bad takes about “Nosferatu” (2024), the one I find more hilarious is that Ellen sacrificed herself “for our sins” like Jesus Christ, when this is one of the most anti-Christian movies I have seen in recent years. And in the meantime Robert Eggers changed to the Pagan and Zalmoxis worship angle, because his 2016 idea was to go full on Satanic with Orlok chanting Enochian keys to open the portals of hell.

Ellen rejects God; calls it destiny;

A church wedding gets annulled by a piece of paper (your holy sacrament is meaningless);

“His evil can’t enter this house of God”: has nothing to do with God, and everything with Orlok having to be invited in;

Ellen gets offered a cross, doesn’t care about it;

The extremely religious female character who assures everyone God protects them is the first to die (where is your God now?);

Ellen throws Christian salvation out of the window (“I need no salvation”);

This entire story is about Ellen liberating herself from Victorian Christian society, and embracing her nature (embodied by Orlok himself);

Ellen and Orlok are representations of Babalon and the Beast from Aleister Crowley’s Thelema, with their final scene being a Sex Magick ritual. Your non-existent “Christ-like” Ellen is, in fact, the Whore of Babylon from the “Book of Revelations”, the “mother of abominations” (which is why Orlok is a monster of her own creation). The meaning is the birth of the New Age of Aquarius, which was already in the 1922 “Nosferatu” but in a different way, because Eggers wants the divine feminine.

[hugemilkshake]

Oh, I have an idea

Make a Shadow Milk cookie Yandere with the addition of HYPNOTISM.

Please 🙂

MMMMMM I was low-key going to do this like on my own but ya beat me to it but this will be structured like a normal yandere headcannon. But I did enjoy writing this it was fun :3

But I hope you enjoy your milkshake

Yandere Shadow Milk Cookie

Second part

-Romantic or Platonic insulation-

!TW! Under the cut there are themes like obsession, possessiveness, warping one’s reality and hypnosis

The Faerie Kingdom, it was a lovely sight to take in! All the faeries seemed really chill about you and your friends arrival

And you couldn’t help but marvel at the slivery tree that was right in the center of the Kingdom

The way the light shines on it was breathtaking, but little did you know, it’s history was not as pretty.

A dark evil was sealed into the tree eons ago.

Beasts. That’s all they will be. Beasts.

But you didn’t know that

You stood side by side with your friends as a rift in the once beautiful tree opened

A jester like character popped out of the tree like a Jack in the box.

The beast proclaimed that he was Shadow Milk Cookie, the world's finest playwright, poet, director, actor, clown and trickster

This situation was unsettling, this jester was able to snake his way into Pure Vanillas and the faeries minds, the same thing could happen to you…

You didn’t catch Shadow Milk Cookies attention at first

You were just a meaningless cookie, he was here for Pure Vanilla and Elder Faerie

But the way you were willing to help Elder Faerie seal him back up could be some what admirable

But what really caught his eye was how you put yourself in front of the young cookies in the face of danger

You were willing to put your life on the line for these cookies who are probably just dead weight

That’s something that could be used to his advantage

So once Elder Faerie Is out of the picture, he could finally start twisting your sweet little reality

But he wasn’t expecting to get an attachment to you in such a short amount of time

Now he could just make you into one of his shadow puppets and you’d obey his every wish and command with no problems

But that wouldn’t be fun would it?

You were walking with your friends when everything got dizzy

You swore you heard his laughter.

Everyone was worried, Pure Vanilla especially

“Y/N Cookie are you alright?”

No, no you weren’t fine

Pure Vanilla rested his hand on your shoulder

“Listen, when I’m around no one will hurt you”

His voice. It wasn’t his. It was Shadow Milk Cookies

You flinched away, everything was twisting and turning. You couldn’t tell what was real and what was fake

You… you needed space.

That was your mistake, you wondered away from the group… unprotected, unsuspecting.

Shadow Milk Cookie approached you, he told you lies, truths that were to good to believe.

You knew he was just toying with your mind, his offers were meant nothing to you, they were just empty promises.

When you refused his countless offers, he was annoyed. You could be a GOD compared to these… these FOOLS!

Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t want to have to do this but his deceitful nature was playing against his favor

He reached out and grabbed your face, forcing you to look at him, directly in his eyes

His eyes were so… hypnotic, you couldn’t look away…

You couldn’t look away…

Shadow Milk Cookies words were so… charming… you couldn’t help but think that your friends were in the wrong…

Well you thought that until you met back up with your friends… their voices pulled you out of that hypnotic trance

This ticked Shadow Milk Cookie off

You were supposed to listen to him, not any of those imbeciles

Well, Shadow Milk Cookie had to result to making you a shadow puppet, the easy way out

All you were now was a mindless puppet

How boring

You were by his side the whole time after that

He didn’t want your so called “friends” to take you away from him

Everything was PERFECT, he was free, he had a new best buddy by his side and all of the power he wanted at his fingertips!

Wlhat could go wrong?

White Lily Cookie… oh that CURSED LITTLE COOKIE

She sealed him back up…

SHE SEALED HIM BACK UP

Shadow Milk Cookie tried to take you with him, his strings were wrapped around you, desperately trying to pull you back into the tree with him

But your friends held you back, you didn’t get pulled into the tree

Shadow Milk Cookie looked at the inside of the seal, he was… devastated… not because he lost… but because he lost YOU

Shadow Milk sat there… unresponsive. Unmoving.

He was going to get you back.

Even if it meant destroying his fellow beasts in the process

[bardic-inspo]

Blood in the Mortar

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

Rating: Explicit (Smut!!)

Key Tags: Vampire/Blood Bride Lore, Service Dom Astarion, Sexy Use of Telepathic Bond, Evil Power Couple, Torturing a Captive, Choking, Biting/Blood, Masquerade, PIV, Cunnilingus

Summary:

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” Astarion whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.” It started on Naomi’s knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Astarion didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of his ascended blood.

Cross-posting from my AO3 account. This is my first BG3 smut fic. If you like it, I'd love to know! Click here if you'd prefer to read on AO3.

“To whom can a vampire bare its soul and admit its fears? From whom can it receive consolation for the past, comfort for the present, and hope for the future?...The vampire is drawn emotionally to a mortal and decides, because of the strength of this emotion, to make her his bride…The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers.”

-Van Richten’s Monster Hunter’s Compendium, Vol 1

Astarion twists the stem of his wine glass, idly tilting the contents within. His assorted guests warp in the bulb of it, swaying between rosy red and clear crystal.

A gravelly voice interrupts his game. “Quite the menagerie you’ve gathered here, Lord Ancunín.”

Astarion doesn’t bother to stifle his sigh. There’s no mistaking him as the lord of the house, even masked as he is. Astarion’s ensemble this evening is pitch dark velvet swirled in crimson thread and snaking silver. His mask glimmers in the same shade of scaled metal, set to complement the curve of his cheekbones, with only miniscule, twinkling rubies encrusting the edges. Nothing meant to outshine the searing color of his eyes. The mask might be silver, but it’s a red dragon Astarion embodies for this particular masquerade.

This party’s for more monstrous company, after all.

No expense was spared for the ‘menagerie’. A grand piano, polished to an opalescent white, plays under spectral hands at the heart of the ballroom alongside a string quartet. A starlit Baldur’s Gate glistens outside the windowed east wall, framed in gold drapery to match the shimmering flecks in the white marble floor. Lavish wine and better blood pour freely; his guests have only to lift their empty glasses to have them brimming again.

Even with all the ornate masks, in the shapes of creatures exotic or fierce, none of the fangs in the room are fake. All the titles are, save for his and his consort’s. Astarion’s lip curls with distaste.

This masquerade was meant for nobility of a supernatural stature. Vampires, warlocks, lycanthropes. Those who lead them. But what his doors received were lowly spawn. Servants sent in their masters’ stead to get just a glimpse of the one and only vampire ascendant, and then to scurry back and tell tale of him. Cowards.

There’s only one human here who’s just human.

Astarion offers him a well-practiced shrug of a laugh. “I do hope you don’t feel out of place among us more…colorful sorts. Lord…? Forgive me, what was it again?”

“Isn’t the point of a masquerade not to bother with such trivialities?” The stranger chuckles hastily. “In any case, I am not lord. Only a humble apprentice to the most renowned wizard Waterdeep has to offer.”

Ah, yes. The invitation was sent for the newly named archmage, filling the god-shaped hole Gale left behind in the wake of his own ascension. Astarion’s eyes flit over the lanky, unkempt apprentice who addresses him instead.

His hair hangs in honey blonde waves past his shoulders, like the mane of the beast he seeks to imitate. It’s a lion’s mask the apprentice wears. Perhaps a poor attempt at humor. The effort would’ve been better paid towards penance, and a sheep’s head would’ve suited him far better than the guise of a predator. Anything would’ve been more fitting than the baggy business he calls a shirt.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “That still doesn’t give me a thing to call you.”

“I am Enrik, if it pleases you.”

“No surname?” Astarion asks with an arched brow.

“None of consequence, my lord,” he replies with the uneasy edge Astarion’s entitled to.

“Well, Enrik, I hope you find our masquerade pleasing.”

“It has certainly been enlightening thus far.”

“And how’s that?” Astarion asks brusquely. He never did like wizards.

He doesn’t like the look on this one’s face, either. The lion that should be a sheep surveys the room with a pitying expression, like he’s watching some petty amusement. A zoo. Gods, or a circus. And what would that make him, Astarion the Ascended, if not a clown? Astarion’s fingers tighten on the stem of his glass, an imperceptible change to any eyes not keen enough to catch it.

“Why, it’s been only a year since your ascension,” Enrik says. “You’ve accomplished much in short order. It’s quite remarkable.”

Astarion’s nose twitches. Praise. From cattle. How quaint, and ill-fitting.

His expression abruptly eases. A refined, familiar scent carries to him from across the crowd. A note of lavender, twined with his favored bergamot.

“And you’ve already enthralled some truly magnificent specimens,” Enrik carries on, oblivious. “Take this fine creature, for example. What a pretty thing to have strung along on your leash.”

Astarion feels her before he sees her. She wipes a palm down the sheath of her skirt, smoothing out some infinitesimal wrinkle. The music smooths, too. With that one simple motion, it bends and blends into something deeper, fuller. All of the lesser spawn of Astarion’s making straighten their slouched shoulders.

He feels the tug of her in his head, and then the cool stroke of her hand to his back, the soothing feel of her fingers combing through his hair, and the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp. It takes a concerted effort to suppress the pleased groan that bubbles in the back of his throat. All this from across the room, without so much as a glance, let alone a touch.

Hello, darling, he thinks, and she hears it just as if he’d spoken aloud. Aren’t you ravishing?

Her skirt is snow-white crepe that clings taut to her shapely hips before fanning out at her feet. It’s the same lovely shade of ivory as her hair, twisted in a braid like a crown around her head, with the rest falling sleek down her back. A black lace bodice sets just off her lilac shoulders, with gloves to match. Floral stitching vees down from her waistline. The same embellishments decorate the skirt’s edges.

His dark consort, his Naomi once-Tavriel-now-Ancunín, weaves leisurely through the partygoers. The thorny prickle of Astarion’s irritation inspires a little lift at the corner of her mouth.

I’ve been called so much worse, she thinks. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh. I think you called me ‘creature’ just yesterday. Should I not have taken it as a compliment?

Astarion’s scowls. He should be grateful to have your name in his mouth. To even set foot in our home. Let alone speak to me like that. Or at all.

But think of how much fun he’s started, she answers, chipper. You were so bored before.

She’s not wrong.

If they’re not the guests you wanted, Naomi continues, cool and calm, then they’re intruders, aren’t they? Whatever should we do with them?

A slow smile steals its way onto his lips. Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more. Miracles never cease.

“Do you know what they call her?” Astarion says aloud, to worse company. “Other than mine, of course.”

“She was the hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

Astarion waves a manicured hand irritably, as if swatting away a stray fly. “One of them, true, but isn’t there another name that comes to mind?”

The man swallows thickly. “The Siren of the Sword Coast.”

"And yet here you are," Astarion sneers, "ready to dash yourself upon the rocks like a little ship blown astray. I can hardly blame you."

His eyes soften, just past the shoulder of Enrik’s gaudy doublet. In the low flutter of candlelight, he spies the sheen of amethysts set among delicate feathers wrought from silver. He'd had the mask made for Naomi with the likeness of a swan in mind.

Still, as pretty as it is, his favorite gleam is those eyes. She still kept the kiss of violet in them, even in death. It mingles with the red in her irises, like a rich, dark wine.

"She is captivating, isn’t she?" Astarion sighs, a faint smile grazing his lips. "My beautiful bride."

“Forgive me my lord, I meant no offense,” Enrik says, eyes down with deference. “I’m merely an admirer of fine things. And a messenger for my fine master.”

“Do your duty, then,” Astarion says tersely, his smile evaporating.

“My master understands that power is the only currency that holds any weight for men of your making. He has much of it to share, if you're likewise inclined.”

Astarion laughs coldly. “And what does your master wish for me to share with him, exactly? I don’t bite just anyone, after all.”

A swallow bobs in Enrik’s throat. “He only means to make mutual use of your shared arsenal. Like you mean to make of his, my lord. He could work wonders with even just one scream. He could bottle it--”

Astarion clenches the wine glass in a chokehold. He could kill this wretched cretin here, now, bare-handed. Or have him drawn and quartered. Or--

No one knows their manners these days, Naomi sighs inside his head. But if you want to play along and see what this archmage would pay, I’ll--

Astarion’s jaw clenches. You won’t be screaming for him, little love.

It earns him an eyeroll. It wouldn’t be like that--

It won’t be at all. Astarions sends his answer with the weight of a stone.

He sips his wine, boring into Enrik with a hard stare. “Don’t you know swans make the most achingly beautiful music?”

Enrik’s eyes dart anxiously over Astarion’s burning ones. “Only just before they die, so the stories go.”

“Before someone does,” Astarion drawls, as the vintage seeps sweetly down his throat. “You see, my beloved, oh, she’s a monster, too. She so does love the taste of blood in her mouth, now that she’s supped of mine.”

Enrik edges back, shoulders hunched small like the prey he is. “I-I’m just a messenger my lord. Killing me after you’ve so graciously offered your hospitality would be the same as breaking a mirror. It would only cast ill luck on you and your house.”

A gloved hand wraps Enrik’s shoulder. He shirks from that delicate grip like it's scalding. At long last, he finds the decency to shut up.

Naomi’s fangs gleam like the bottle in her hand. “More wine?”

The white marble of the ballroom shimmers like freshly fallen snow. All the curtains are drawn back, cinched aside for good measure. Shadow and sunlight slice the floor in slanted strips. Gritty ash piles where the light lies, coils of rope strewn among the gray dust of guests gone for good.

Only one remains.

Sprawled motionless across the floor, Enrik lies nose-to-nose with the knife edge of day and darkness. It’s only a silhouette that keeps him from being swallowed by the glow. Only Astarion’s grace shades him.

The vampire ascendant cuts a sharp shadow before the arched windowpane. Brightness clings, soft as clouds, to his curls, his lean edges, and his jaw. His velvet coat crumples at his heels as if it were nothing more precious than the ash heaped around him. He’s blessedly bare from the waist-up, resplendent in the sunlight while he surveys his domain awash with it.

It calls to mind the man who took Naomi out into the woods all those months and nights ago. What he looked like when she woke and found his back arched, chin tilted skyward. What she’d do, and what little she wouldn’t, to see Astarion slip into bliss every day as easily as slipping out of a coat.

It’s Naomi’s grace that finally rouses their disheveled company. A rolling melody, played on piano, pours from her fingertips and crests with the morning birdsong drifting in. Enrik groans against the grain of it.

At once, the music cuts to quiet. Naomi’s hands hover over the keys, knuckles twitching in faint longing. Then, she turns on the bench and turns her attention towards her restless audience.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

Enrik squints up at her. His brown eyes leak with the light, even though he’s sheltered from it. They dart across the room, skimming like stones over water, before they sear into Naomi.

“You.”

“Who else were you expecting? You’re in my home.”

Rope binds Enrik’s hands and heels. He tugs at the ties, or tries to. He hasn’t yet figured out it’s all for not.

Naomi stands, her heels clicking staccato to the tile. As she goes, she paints a palm over the piano keys, stroking each octave from root to rise. Music flows freely again all on its own, even when her hand falls away.

She comes to loom over her captive, lips pursed. “I hear you said some very rude things to my husband.”

Enrik folds against the floor, panting for breath.

“You should be so grateful for our hospitality,” she says. “Should have been. That’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

Feral noise rips from his throat. Like a dog, he lunges, snapping for her ankles. She side-steps into the light, not bothering to flee any farther than an inch. He freezes, ogling the shiny toe of her shoe now parallel to his nose.

“You don’t fear the sun?” he gasps, quivering.

“I need not fear anything.”

Naomi lifts her head, meeting a scarlet stare brimming in equal measures affection and amusement. Sunlights melts over the bare of Astarion’s chest, spurring her tongue to wet her lips. He leans against the glass, head angled back, eyes slitted in satisfaction. A slow smile unfurls on his face.

“You should be grateful, too,” Naomi says with a sneer, “to lay here and not just a little to the left.”

“W-What do you mean? What did you do to me?!” Enrik’s eyes bulge. He squirms in a sudden panic, to no avail.

Naomi tilts her neck to the side and taps at the scar Astarion’s teeth marked her with. Her fingers fan down on her own throat, savoring the shape of that succulent memory. Of the last bite he gave her in life. Of his lips swirling comfort into her skin before sucking her down to the last drop. Of the look on his face, the awe he had, when she next woke.

The faintest leak of breath, soft as down, passes from Astarion’s mouth.

“You--you--! You turned me!” Her hostage sputters. Naomi frowns darkly.

“Oh not me,” Naomi snaps, incredulous. “I’m only a weak little spawn puppet, according to you. According to you, the only good thing I can do is scream. How could I manage to turn you without choking on my own leash?”

She gags for good measure. He doesn’t get the joke. He hasn’t caught on to the other joke yet. Which means she’s safe as can be, even this close. So long as she stands on the other edge of Astarion’s shadow.

Astarion turns. His silhouette twists with his movement. Enrik shrieks like a swine.

“Oh, that wasn’t good at all. You can do better.” Naomi presses out a strained sigh, crouching down to fist a hand in his hair and yank his head upright.

Enrik bares his teeth as if they aren’t dull and flat. “Filthy bitch!”

The insult doesn’t so much as chip Naomi’s serene composure, but it puts a twang in her head, along the invisible string that links her and Astarion. His anger lashes in her mind like a restless tail.

“What a vile little ingrate,” Astarion snarls.

She lets her hostage’s head roll from her palm, cheek smacking the tile. Enrik writhes against his restraints. Naomi clicks her tongue in reproach. I’ve barely even touched you yet.

Green magic threads between her gloved fingers, glittering. She snaps them and says, “Scream.”

And he does. Loud enough to drown out the crescendo coursing from the grand piano. Inside of Enrik’s skull, the song isn’t nearly so sweet. His back jerks up and away from the floor, head bent back, eyes torn wide in terror.

His cries pitch with the slink of Astarion’s shadow stretching nearer. Sunlight clings close behind his heels. Naomi’s fingers flex and the spell recedes.

Her magic leaves Enrik sniveling, inching like a worm away from the slice of light between Astarion’s legs. Astarion huffs softly. With a wave of his hand, a ghostly one apparates behind him and snags the curtains closed.

Astarion’s scent sweeps with his sleeve -- the sweetness of brandy, mingled with the woodsy smell of rosemary. His knuckles gently brush the side of Naomi’s cheek. Instinctively, she leans towards the touch.

“Precious thing,” Astarion chides with a pout. “You’re being far too sweet to him. Here I thought you only had room in your heart for me.”

Naomi inclines her head, eyes narrowing by a hair. “My sire would see me be crueler?”

Astarion’s thumb grazes her lips. At once, she parts for him, teasing the pad of it with her tongue while he toys with the tip of a fang. He presses in, watching his skin bend to near-breaking, as if to test her sharpness. Before any blood’s drawn, he draws his hand down to cradle her chin. His voice is smooth as satin, though his stare is a hardened one.

“Your sire would see you spoken to with the respect you’re owed. And he needs you to kneel, dear one.”

The words are a weight to her shoulder, easing her down. But the heft is a comfort, not a compulsion. He could compel her, if he wanted to.

He hasn’t yet.

One day, she thinks, he will. And he’ll feel the weight of whatever chains he’d wrap her in through the bond that binds them tighter than the tadpole did. He won’t do it without good reason. Naomi doesn’t need a reason to kneel for her lover. That he wishes it is enough.

When her knees meet the ground, she feels the shape of Astarion’s smile pressed against their bond like it’s pressed, wet and wanting, against her mouth. She feels the dainty tug of his teeth coax her lips apart. Tastes the coppery tang of her own blood and the velvet undercurrent of his within her veins. The heat of him, still such a novel thing in his ascended body, bleeds from his skin to hers, fanning the newfound ache between her thighs.

In her mind, and his, his lips pour down her bare shoulders. His fingers fist in the fine fabric of her dress, ripping it to ruin. He leaves none of her untouched. To anyone else’s eye, they’re not even touching.

Naomi’s eyelids flutter. She downs a hard swallow. Good girl, he says, just for her.

To their captive audience, he spares no such kindness. Astarion raises his foot above Enrik’s ankles, letting it dangle for a moment. It drops like a hammer to an anvil. Enrik bucks with a fresh scream and a sickening crack.

“I’d never give a miserable little wretch like you the gift of immortality,” Astarion spits. “You wouldn’t know how to appreciate it.”

Confusion flits between the pain and panic in Enrik’s eyes.

“That’s right,” Astarion seethes. “You’re not a vampire. You aren’t worth my consort’s teeth. Or mine.”

Crunch. Another ankle shatters. Another shriek claws the air. Astarion strolls, leisurely, to Enrik's hands next. He grounds his heel into the pop of fingers breaking beneath his boots. Their hostage heaves a broken sob.

“Sh, sh, sh, oh, it’s all right,” Astarion croons. “I happen to have just the knife for you.”

Astarion crosses back to his coat piled near the window and draws a dagger from its folds. Rhapsody. Cazador’s blade. Naomi hasn’t seen it since they claimed the Crimson Palace for themselves.

Brightness glints off the twined edge, a match for the harsh and singular focus gleaming in Astarion’s gaze.

So that’s what Astarion was smiling about, as he basked by the window. What had him so peacefully quiet and content. Murder was on his mind, even then.

Not the only thing on my mind, little love. She feels the slant of his smirk in her head, as if it ghosted past the hinge of her jaw. There’s no trace of it on Astarion’s stony exterior.

He plucks the crystal wine glass from the sill while he’s there, rotating the stem as he saunters back over. Blood flecks the fine leather of Astarion’s shoes. He plants them on either side of Enrik’s torso. He seizes Enrik’s collar, yanking harshly until he’s kneeling, too.

“Fuck you,” Enrik spits. “Fuck you both! My master will--”

“Darling,” Astarion trills, grip unwavering, “Would you..?”

Magic swirls sticky across Naomi’s tongue. “Ad Lapidē.”

Violet runes blaze to life beneath their captive’s knees, capturing him in perfect stillness. His mouth hangs agape with unspent vitriol. Astarion’s hands recoil, twisting the dagger in one, and the glass in the other.

“Your master,” Astarion sneers with a dark laugh. “Too much of a coward to show his face, so he sends you. His sacrificial lamb, sent to speak to me about sharing my dearest treasure, like he isn’t the scum beneath her shoes. He had to know I wouldn’t hear of it. But he didn’t care enough about you to even taint your blood. That’s right. My lesser spawn sampled you just like they would any cattle. But my beautiful bride hasn’t had one bite, not yet. Not until I was sure you were sweet enough for her palate.”

Astarion strokes Rhapsody down the man’s outstretched neck. The barest streak of blood leaks from the scrape. Astarion’s eyes skate over the ash piles around the room, wistful.

“All it took was a sleeping potion,” he muses. “Just a few drops. Now all of the spawnlings sent by all of my lessers are dust. You’ll wish to join them, before this is done. And you will. When I decide we’re done.”

Naomi’s eyes fasten to the blood beading down Enrik’s pallid throat. Astarion digs in ever-so-gently with Rhapsody’s tip, just enough to start a stream running. He presses the cup beneath it. Slowly, the crystal fills red to the brim. Her mouth waters.

Astarion looks up abruptly, eyes wide and soft as his malice dissolves to fondness. “Darling, you do look famished. Open up for me, dear.”

Naomi’s chin lifts, lips parted. Astarion tilts the glass to meet her with the utmost care.

“I won’t have your grime and sweat on her lips,” Astarion hisses in Enrik’s ear. “Only your blood. You don’t deserve that…” He sucks a sharp breath in. Naomi watches with rapt attention as it stutters through his chest. “...pretty little mouth.”

Blood, rich and smooth as cream, slips across her tongue. Her eyes slip shut with it. With each swallow, syrupy warmth spreads slowly through her chest, down her legs, through arms, to her every inch. Too soon, it’s taken from her. Naomi’s eyes flutter open. She’s taken all of it, already.

“More, my love?” Astarion hums happily. “You only have to ask.”

“More,” she says at once, lips still wet.

Astarion carves. The insolent apprentice bleeds without a sound. Again and again, the cup fills. He tips it to her lips, and Naomi drinks until her eyelids grow heavy.

Her body thrums like it remembers the pulse that used to play through her veins. She’s warmer than a dead woman should be. Even the air itself feels like the kiss of steam tingling against her skin.

It’s then that Naomi feels Astarion’s lips in her head again, sucking little marks down her throat that match the rosy flush heating her cheeks. She pants out of habit, out of instinct, and not of need. Out of want for him to watch what he does to her. As if he doesn’t already know.

One twist of Astarion’s wrist turns the little leak of blood from Enrik’s throat into a fountain. Naomi’s spell dissipates in violet sparks. His body slumps over, lifeless. Blood runs from him in little rivers, rushing to fill the grout lines between the tiles.

Astarion cradles one last glassful in a delicate grip. His face clears of any clouded rage as he gives the glass an experimental swirl. Wordlessly, he tilts the cup to her mouth once more.

Naomi gasps. Wetness paints her chin. It streams down her neck, drips down her sternum and between her breasts, still bound in lace. Astarion drips with it, down to his knees in fluid motion. Somewhere behind him, the wine glass shatters. In her periphery, she sees the shards glitter like frost.

“Oops,” he says, low and shameless.

Barely any blood made it to Naomi’s mouth this time, but she doesn’t mind one bit. Astarion crawls to her, catlike. She’s only spared a moment to admire the lithe muscle flexing through his naked chest before he leans into the hollow of her throat. Silver curls brush soft beneath her chin. And then, she feels the tip of that devilish tongue take a tentative lick of the mess he’s made.

And gods, what a mess she must be. Blood smears from her neck to her navel, near-black on her blue-gray skin. Dark like Astarion’s eyes, with pupils blown wide and hungry. A flare of heat twists low in Naomi’s stomach. Her thighs shift, wet with it.

Thread rips in her ears. Rhapsody drags delicately down her side, scratching faint like a quill. The lace of her gown splits without resistance. There's none to be had against that mouth of his, just as busy as his nimble hands.

Astarion laps, dainty, down the path of her swallow. His coy smile curves with a petal-soft laugh against her collar bone. Naomi laughs, too, breathless as his tongue chases lazily after the spill. Breathless as the day he took the last breath she needed.

Ever since, Astarion’s given her everything she could want, without leaving her wanting for more than a moment. Now, her knees will never grow numb, no matter how long they bend against the marble. The chill of it can’t phase her, either. Even if it could, Astarion’s drawn the curtains wide. When she kneels for him, it’s only ever on sun-soaked stone.

Astarion treasures her. Cherishes her. Lavishes her with love and pleasure and wealth and power. Preserves her like prized silver, polished with such devotion so she’ll never know the tarnish of time. She’s his spawn. His wife.

But above all else, she’s his pride. The very thing that rules him. The only thing that still does.

Naomi wants to be in ruins with him. To be the last pillars of a broken world already so far beyond repair before they were dragged through it. Aeterna amantes. Until the fall of everything.

Until then, this, the low groan he gives her while her fingers stroke red through the plush white of his hair, the heady hum in her blood, the bloom of someone else’s waking color in her cheeks, the way Astarion looks at her like there’s nothing else at all, the way he tears into a dress he paid a fortune for, the hand he knots through her braids to wreck them -- this is everything.

Astarion tosses Rhapsody over his shoulder to join the broken wine glass, just like any other worthless trinket. His deft hands curl into the tears in her bodice and tug. At once, it gives way to his grip. She would, too, were it not so binding. Naomi grounds out a gasp. Her skirt pools at her knees, leaving her bare but for the warmth of Astarion’s roaming hands and the daylight pouring over them both.

“Do you know why I wanted you down here, pet?” He asks softly.

Astarion’s eyes latch to hers while his teeth toy at the curve of her breast. His tongue slicks over to soothe where his fangs grazed her, and then it melts against a pert nipple, taking it in with a lewd suck.

Naomi paws for a coherent thought, but all she finds is a pleading hum. He nips her again, just enough to see her tit tremble from the pull when he draws away. He leaves her nipple glistening and the underside of her breast peppered in pink before moving on to the other.

“To torture me, clearly,” Naomi pants. Her hands still tangle in his hair. Amusement glimmers in his gaze as he plants a chaste kiss to the inside of one of her wrists and sets them both back at her sides.

“Oh no, my sweet. I would never,” he says, chin resting flat against her navel. He looks up at her with wide, doey eyes, full of faux innocence.

He slinks lower, laying a line with his tongue that ends in a kiss just above where her skirts still shield her. He shifts them aside, ripping where he needs, until it’s only one little piece of black lace covering her cunt. Astarion growls against it, nosing at its edges, his back bowed, stomach brushing the floor. His teeth find the waistband and tear that, too.

Hot breath fans across the other mess he made. Naomi wavers on her knees. From that minute motion alone, she can hear how he’s soaked her.

But Astarion doesn’t disprove her theory; he leans back abruptly, straightening up to his knees again. An arm loops slack around her waist as he circles around to her bare back. Naomi’s lips twitch. If this is the game he wants, it’s too soon to beg. The thought inspires another needy flex through her cunt. His other hand slides to cup the heat of it, and Naomi whines. Reflexively, her back arches. Astarion pulls her still.

He catches the side of her jaw, angling her back into a biting kiss. It’s over before she wants it to be, his lips red and glistening with what he stole from her. Without him, her mouth burns from the cut.

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” he whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.”

For a brief moment, he draws away entirely, leaving her with nothing but a lonely chill. And then, his back comes flush to the floor beneath her. His body splays behind her. The heat of his mouth crests against the heat of her cunt, his face fitted between her thighs, his lips hovering so close, but not close enough. His breath alone snags the one halfway through her throat.

“Oh,” her realization comes out quivering.

The tip of his nose nudges, just barely, against her clit, spurring her hips to roll. But all she gets from that mouth is mischief and a quiet snicker. He shifts his cheek, laving a long stroke of his tongue to the tender crux of her inner thigh before sealing it over with a tight suck. When he bites down, he draws out her blood with a rough moan.

Astarion pulls back, his smirk glazed in her, his eyes aflame. “Oh, darling, I’ve barely even touched you yet. And you’re so very wet for me.”

“Touch me, then,” she hisses between her teeth, raking her hands through his perfect curls and fisting them there.

His eyes spear into hers, hard like the way he clenches her ass and pulls her hips down. Even as it sets her on fire, his mouth gives her mercy. Astarion’s tongue melts hot across her cunt, swiping slow and dexterous. Not for the first time, Naomi thinks she might like to die like this.

It’s not so different from how she died. It started on her knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Even then, Astarion already knew the shape of her body like he knew his own hands. Every curve, every intimate bend, how to make her speak in noise instead of words. The hidden language behind every whimper she makes, every shiver.

So he knows exactly what he’s doing while his tongue teases gentle circles around her clit. He knows, by the time his timid little laps blend into a needy suck, that she’s so, so sensitive. Astarion’s hungry groan seeps into her slickness. She feels him like a current and clenches again, just as hungry.

Every feeling he gives her gives him an echo back just as strong. Every thought in her head is in his head, too. He eats her cunt and feels fed by her pleasure curling in the tips of his toes. He didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of blood back.

But Astarion knew her body before she was his bride. Now, he knows her mind. A part of him lives there, as she does in his. As he drags his pale, elegant fingers between her folds, he drags her head through a dozen depravities. Filling her with nothing but thoughts of how he’ll fill her properly.

He could have her against the arched windows lining the east wall, body pressed so pretty to the glass so he can see the imprint of it even after she peels away. She could feel the heat brimming off the sun outside, washing over their empire. He could taste her sunbathed shoulder while he fucks her senseless. His little love, dipped in honey. So what if someone else sees. Later, he’ll see to them not seeing anything ever again.

He could take her here, on the ballroom floor. Pull her down just as she surfaces from the pleasure he’s paid her, and roll her beneath him to bury her in it all over again. Make love on the marble streaked with the blood of their enemies, where hundreds of dignitaries have danced and dined on countless evenings before. But none of them were ever blessed with such a fine feast as he. The stone would be hard and unyielding against her back, and he would be just the same, driving into her, relentless. At least it’s far prettier than the dirt they used to fuck in.

Or--

A new picture snaps from Naomi’s mind to his, with the dip of his tongue to her entrance, a staggering spike of pleasure, and an unbidden whimper.

The piano. Pearly white with jet black keys, so pristine, so gorgeous with blood spilt red down the sides. Naomi poured over the side, ivory hair tinged with crimson, cascading over her bare, bent back. Astarion’s fingers buried in her hips, planting the promise of bruises, his body bucking wildly into her as he finally--

Naomi’s moan hits the high pitch of the ceiling. She grinds, needy, against the pair of fingers he crooks inside of her. His thumb spreads her slickness back and presses to the pucker of her ass.

So eager for me to fill you up. His voice in her head is a caress. Her hips roll with the sound. His thumb dips inside her ass with the motion, and Naomi gasps as she eases into that delicious stretch.

But darling, I haven’t fed all night, Astarion pouts, mouth moving with agonizing slowness as his eyes flutter shut beneath long black lashes. Naomi’s eyelids grow heavy, too, as she’s lost to that lovely, slick click of his lips. A meal like you is meant to be savored.

He fucks her holes leisurely, with the air of someone who knows he’ll be back for more before long. It brings to mind those long, lithe fingers, folded between the pages of a book to mark his place. All it takes is an effortless flex of them to keep her coaxed open like this. Her body draws taut as he leans her over the precipice of her own pleasure.

If you need more, my dear, by all means. Take it.

He growls into their bond like he’s the one devoured. Like he can plead ignorance to how he’s taking her apart with his hands, his mouth. Naomi catches a whine between her teeth. Astarion’s free hand cups her ass, urging her into the thrust her body bends towards. She parts a hand from his hair to brace flat to the floor beside his face, the other knotting anew in his silver curls.

Desperately, she rides against the flat of his tongue, against that long, refined nose, fucking herself back into the curve of his fingers. Every pull of them pulls her under, deeper into her own ecstasy. Her body grips him back like she means to drown him, too. The tip of his tongue flicks her clit in relentless rhythm, starting off a shudder she can’t stop.

“Don’t stop,” she begs within and without, the jerk of her hips growing frantic.

His mouth is mercy. When she comes for him, she’s wreathed in heat, slick with sweat, every nerve in her body alight with the most blissful burn. A strangled cry breaks in her chest. It buries the song now trembling from the piano. Naomi shivers out a sigh, and the keys shiver with her.

Astarion wraps his arms tight to her thighs, anchoring her through the aftershocks. When she stills again, her body throbs with a heady rush of blood, pleasure, want. Every part of her is limp with it, save the pulsing, rigid press in her mind and in his trousers. She’s putty in his hands even as his fingers leave her. Naomi twitches back towards the touch he takes away, body aching with his absence.

Naomi’s knuckles unfurl, stroking soft through the tangles she wrought. What a sight he is, his hair in utter disarray, his mouth a mess of blood and lust and her. An ease settles into his graceful features, not so different from that quiet contentment he wore while leaning into the light by the window. His eyes simmer with it, lips drawn in a soft smile.

Without warning, his grip tightens. Naomi stifles a huff of surprise as she’s taken down, marble kissing smooth to her spine. A pale hand cradles her head, cushioning her fall. In a blink, he’s hovering over her bare body and dipping down to catch her in a fever of a kiss. It’s a needy, sweltering latch of lips, tangy with her own sweetness as much as his.

“Here?” She purrs to the seal of his mouth.

She lets him feel the way the word alone makes her body tense. Waiting. Wanting. Their bond curls with it, crooked and beckoning in his head. The way his fingers bent a few moments before, buried in the heat of her.

A long breath passes out through his nose, his eyes sliding half shut. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. But his cheek turns by just the barest hair, and Naomi’s attention follows after his.

Music flutters, breathy, off the black and white keys. The piano stays a pretty picture of perfection, among the deaths little and large they’ve littered throughout the ballroom.

His teeth trace the angled edge of her ear. Naomi keens with the sting of it as she’s swept from the floor.

“There.”

She’s caught in his kiss again as he carries her. One swipe of his tongue to where he bit her lip before has her quivering. Has her a world away from the one still around them. Vaguely, she’s aware he’s somehow rid her of her gloves and shoes. She hears a dull, wooden clatter, and then a resounding thud. The piano plays on, but it's muted.

Astarion doesn’t bend her over the way she mused. Instead, he seats her on the polished wood of the piano’s closed lid. His hands leave her back to push her knees apart, scoop beneath them, and pull her spread legs to the strain trapped in his trousers.

Naomi grins, her fangs snagging his lower lip as he tries to part from her. Astarion’s answering groan is rough like a scrape of sandpaper. It leaves her mouth raw, tingling, alive with a pulse that plays to the tune of his pleasure. She wants more of that noise. More of the happy purr it pours into her head from his. One drink of that sloppy, slap happy look on his face sates her more than blood ever could.

You’ve given me everything, he told her, once. But now, all she can think is more. Take more. Take everything.

Astarion grinds his hard length against her in answer. The sweet friction makes sweeter music in their mouths as Naomi moans with the motion, too. Still, there’s far too much fabric for her liking.

Astarion’s fingers make fast work of it. He unlaces his pants only enough to free his cock, parts from her only enough to push her back and clamber up after her. Then, he’s on her again like a second skin. Her cunt throbs with the press of his cock, the tip of it wet and seeping against her thigh. She tries to fit a hand between them, to wrap her palm around his girth and feel with her hands, not just her head, how badly he has to have her. Astarion doesn’t leave her space for it.

It’s not his hands that put her flat on her back, against the body of the piano. It’s the sudden swell of his adoration ballooning from his brain to hers. The weight of his affection pins her there beneath him, utterly paralyzed, as the music flows on under both of them. He’s brimming with it, and it washes over her in a wave, a cup overflowing.

His curls hang down in his eyes, wild with the look of a man starved. “You’re going to scream for me, little love,” he says with the slightest slur. The thought smears from him to her, burning in the back of her mind like a pull of liquor. He brushes her snarled hair back until it tumbles over the piano’s edge, white over white. “I’m going to make you. And I want to see that beautiful face when I do.”

“Please,” she starts to say.

But barely any of it makes it past her lips. Astarion never leaves her wanting for more than a moment.

“O-Oh,” she stammers instead, as her soaked cunt splays to his cock sliding home. Astarion pushes out a moan as he pushes into her. He hooks her legs with his arms, folding them up and back.

“That’s my girl,” he pants, forehead heavy against her own. His thumb circles her cheek, a feather-light counterweight to the thickness he seats inside her. He watches her intently, fixated. Hypnotized. “My good, good girl.”

Kisses and praise tumble from between his teeth, down her cheek, to her throat. Naomi’s head rolls back while she relishes the wet, smacking mantra that’s the mess of them. He’s not tender with his tempo. He doesn’t have to be. You could ruin me. I’d let you ruin me, she thinks again.

And how beautiful he is, in ruins with her. No more composure. No more restraint. Sweat streaks his brow as it bends beneath his focus. All there is is the blend of them, the slow rock of the piano underneath them, and the scattered, stranded pieces of a melody left in their wake.

It could break. The thought cracks through her, through them, with the wooden whine of the piano legs taking the shift of their weight. Astarion crushes her worry beneath the thrust of his hips, any notion of it lost to the head of his cock pressing just where it needs to make her see stars.

Naomi bites down on her own lip, grounding herself in fleeting pain and the tang of blood. He’s not even touching her clit; he doesn’t have to. He floods her with how it felt when he did, when his tongue rolled against the swell of it, just the tip of it teasing that sensitive little bud. How she felt to him, so silky and slick in his mouth. How amazing it feels to finally fuck her, to take what’s his and have her take him so, so tightly.

He could ruin her. Snap her like the creaking legs of this instrument, not long for this world. It would be almost as effortless as the way she spreads for him. But instead, Astarion fills her. Every shift prods the crown of his cock against the sweetest spot inside her cunt.

Naomi’s fingers claw into Astarion’s back as he bucks wildly. Tears sear in her eyes. The tell-tale pressure in her pelvis builds near-blinding.

“Scream for me, darling,” he growls against her neck, out loud this time.

Her cunt throbs with his command. But she doesn’t heed it. Astarion lets out a low, steaming hiss.

“I said scream, dear,” Astarion says, his velvet voice edged in warning. The sparks of his indignation spit flinty in her head alongside a flicker of excitement at her defiance.

He wants to feel the rush of her own power with the spasm of her cunt as she comes undone. He wants her magic to spill into him as he spills his seed inside of her. Wants to taste it with the rest of her. If Naomi was nothing to him, she’d still be the siren; it’s not a power Astarion gifted to her. It was hers without him. It is her. And she’s his.

“I might break the glass,” she whispers, wary of anything louder.

“Oh, my love,” Astarion says tenderly, a husk in his throat as his hand wraps loose around her neck. “You can break everything.”

Astarion kills her hesitation. She’s never felt more whole. She feels holy, feeling her own perfect squeeze around his cock, feeling herself fucked in his body and her own. Feeling what she does to the man who already has everything, but will never have enough of her.

When Naomi screams Astarion's name, it’s everything else in the room that shatters.

Glass crashes from the windows. They burst one after another in quick-fire succession. Astarion buckles against her body with the sudden, decisive snap beneath them. His hips jerk, rutting erratically. Warmth spurts into her with every shudder down his spine, every pulse of his cock.

He cuts her cry with his teeth buried in the crook of her neck. Naomi clings to him as her cunt convulses. It’s the bite that takes her apart, knowing he tastes his own name in her throat and thinks--

Mine, mine, mine.

Naomi’s head drops limp. Astarion’s grip on her neck gives way to soft circles stroked against her cheek again. Mine, she thinks, as his ruby eyes watch her keenly, awash in the soft glow only she knows.

Even after Astarion stills, the room spins dizzy from her upside-down view. She blinks it all back into place, but some pieces won’t fit together again so easily. They’re far closer to the floor than when he slipped inside of her. The piano legs splay at odd, splintered angles. The floor glitters with glass like crystalline teeth, ready to bite the heels of any who dare tread their hall.

Astarion slides out, and she shivers with the fade of his warmth. He sits up, his gaze sweeping the shattered windows, his smirk smug and wet with her. “Perhaps all of the Gate heard you. The gardener did for certain.”

Naomi sits up, too, leaning forward and letting his shoulder take her weight. Her forehead comes to rest against his collarbone. She finds an easy smile while relishing the way his heart still hammers his chest. She did that, in multiple senses. Absently, he tucks the hair sticking to her cheeks back behind her ears.

“I guess I’ll have to kill her,” he adds, chipper. “I suppose, for now, we can spare all the others.”

“She’s already dead enough, dear,” Naomi sighs.

A tiny, discordant note of sadness plucks in her chest, among the pleasant haze settling over her. Astarion stiffens against it, as if she reached out and pinched him. She doubts he’d be so eager to slay one of his spawn for the same crime of hearing her come for him.

The gardener is hers, of a sort. Not a vampire -- Naomi can’t make those. Before Naomi sang her awake again, the gardener was just a sad stack of bones collecting dust in a closet. Now, she rattles along to Naomi’s tune, keeping the flowers trimmed to her liking.

“I suppose you’re right,” Astarion murmurs. His expression softens with fondness, the sort that’s rare to surface unless they’re alone, but never fails to make her chest light and fluttery. “Are you tired now, pet?”

“We stayed up all night,” Naomi laughs faintly.

“Hm,” he nods with a pitying frown. “Let me see to you, my treasure. Don’t you move.” His lips curve, coy, as his eyes flicker back to the wrecked windows. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

He saunters back to where his coat lays, now tattered. He returns to settle it around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

“You’re such a staunch defender of my honor,” Naomi says dryly, even as the leftovers of their lovemaking start to seep down her thigh.

“Ha,” Astarion shakes with a rolling laugh. “I rather think I’m the thief of it. You were quite the heist. It wouldn’t do to have some debaucherous upstart happen by and think they can make off with what’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t let them live through it.”

“Aw,” he clicks his tongue, “you’re such a romantic.”

Astarion leaves her with her legs strewn over the broken piano, relacing his trousers as he goes. Glass crunches beneath his heels. He stops to ring the bell near the door. A few seconds later, it creaks open a hair. She catches his curt commands to the servant she can’t see on the other side.

“...yes, here, in the ballroom. My consort and I wish to take in the view, and see none of you.”

His lesser spawn are quick to make good on their orders. The door swings open once more a short time later, and in floats a claw-foot tub without another soul to be seen. Magic clings, cloudy, beneath the porcelain belly of it. A pleasant, floral scent curls with the steam from the water within. The tub drifts to the heart of the ballroom and settles with a soft thud before the yawning window panes.

Astarion returns to her as her toes touch the ground again. He frowns tightly, eyes narrowing.

“There’s debris scattered everywhere, my sweet,” he says, saccharine even in reproach. “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

Naomi sniffs a laugh, picking her path carefully. “If I can’t handle a little sharpness here and there, it’s a wonder how I’ve managed to handle you.”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Astarion says, catching her wrist with an effortless flourish. “We were made for each other. By each other, really.”

And Astarion’s made up his stubborn mind that she’s not to take another step, it seems. With a soft huff, he sweeps her off her feet all over again, strides to the tub with her legs dangling over his arm, and delicately deposits her there.

Water laps at the tub’s edges, splashing as she situates herself. She shrugs from Astarion’s coat, shucking it away to join all the other debris they don’t have use for. Heat tingles across her skin, like little, loving nips of Astarion’s teeth. Naomi eases back into the burn of it as the sting settles sweetly.

Astarion rids himself of his shoes and trousers. He dips a foot into the tub, bidding her to make way for him with a gentle nudge. The water ripples as he settles in behind her. With a satisfied sigh, she sinks back against his chest and deeper into the furling warmth.

The ballroom overlooks the well-kept gardens behind the estate. The hedges are high enough, only a spyglass might have hope of spotting them both bare. Under Cazador’s reign, the garden was little more than a sprawl of weeds and webbed ivy. Now, fountains babble between the blooms of pink and blue and violet. If she strains, she can catch the weave of music in the trickling flow, like tinkling wind chimes.

A soft breeze tickles her ears, sending gritty glass and ash scattering over their floor. Astarion clenches a soft sponge in his grip, wrings it out, and starts to scrub her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Naomi’s head tilts back beneath his tender care, every rub taking the tension from shoulders.

She turns after a time, and he starts to wash blood from her front, while she wets her hands and works the redness from the white of his hair. Her fingers linger along the slants of his ears, rubbing delicately, until she catches that satisfied hum in his throat that leaves her lifted, floating on the buoy of his happiness.

The water never cools or clouds; magic still swirls in the steam, even long after they’re free of blood and grime. Astarion rakes hand through her hair, his fingernails digging pleasantly against her scalp.

“You are divine as ever,” he rumbles. “Rest now, pet.”

And she does, slipping soundly into a trance, soaked in sunlight and lavender oil with her lover wrapped around her. Only Astarion sends her to the sort of rest that reaches her soul. His presence is sanctuary.

It’s his disquiet that wakes her suddenly. He still strokes her hair just as gently, but he levels a hard-cut stare out over the garden, his lips set with the same stoniness.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he murmurs, as if to himself.

“As if they ever could,” Naomi whispers back, reaching up to graze the edge of his jaw.

Heavens help the fool who tries. Any who dare to hatch such plots, to harbor such ill will in their Crimson Palace, will find themselves laid to rest with all the others. Their enemies’ gravestones are just bricks in their empire, every one of them laid with blood in the mortar.

Astarion dips his head down, the hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it might be fun to see them try. In the meantime, my love, I’m of a mind to keep you spread for me for the next tenday.”

Naomi laughs. The sound echoes around the otherwise vacant room.

Astarion’s grin only grows, the tips of his fangs sharpening his smile. “Did I say something funny, dear?”

His lips crush down against hers in a kiss consuming.