#but what it can get to has been gloriously cat hair and dust free

[beyoursledgehammer]

Getting a robot vacuum has honestly been one of the best things we've done recently for my mental health, I'm not constantly frustrated and berating myself for our floors having cat hair and whatnot while also cringing while walking around barefoot and with zero energy to do anything about it.

[pseudofaux]

Omg I just saw your harr breeding kink drabble and to say I am obsessed with it is an understatement... would you pretty please with a cherry onto write other one but with Leonardo from Ikevamp please????❤️❤️❤️

:}

Thank you for your kind words about the Harr one, please enjoy this Leo! Because he’s LEO, with those LEO hangups (bless him), this turned out a little more on the romantic side, but I think it’s got some of the frenzy and intention that make breeding kink so hot. Lots and lots of soft banter and tender passion, too. I really hope it will work for you!

(Requests are closed, readers, but there are a lot to be filled in May and likely June, too! Feel free to follow along or just check in and enjoy as many as you like. A masterlist will go up when they are all completed.)

The way his eyes slowly close as he pushes into her reminds her of the astrolabe he likes to tinker with, the slender glow of gold moving beyond the reach of light. He mutters the name of a saint when he bottoms out and comes back down to her mouth.

He’s relentless today. As if it must happen on this first try. It made her laugh when they fell onto the bed together, but she can’t laugh now, not with his tongue swiping those wide stripes up either side of her while he fucks her open with his thumbs.

“Rumorosa,” he chides approvingly, mouth flat against her. “Let it all out. Don’t hold anything back.”

Like she could!

He’s got her spread shamelessly wide, but Leonardo makes her feel so treasured and safe that there she is, kind of loving this. Definitely loving his tongue. He feels the same way all his bouquets of meadow and cobblestone flowers do against her cheek, the softest and most pleasurable touch nature can provide.

“Got to get you ready, cara,” he says, and then gives her another wide lick, straight up and lasting. When he’s finally done with that agonizing holdout over her clit, he asks “You think you’re ready?”

She hums out an mmmmm so long it puts his lick to shame. He likes that enough to laugh. He’s laughing so much about all of this, so grateful and joyful, and she loves to see him be so happy. It polishes him beautifully and makes him shine, like he is shaking off his own dust. When he shrugged off his shirt earlier she swore his shoulders were glowing as he revealed them.

“I love you,” she whispers, feeling a bit small in the face of all these emotions, all this love. All this hope. He stills as soon as he processes her words, tongue against her again, one thumb just about to escape her body.

“I’d guessed that,” he says warmly, and gives her a tender kiss instead of the sensual lick she expected. “No one has ever been so generous, you know, this probably isn’t good for you.”

She can hear how he tries to make it a joke, and she puts her hands in his hair and tugs to correct him. “This is what we both want,” she reminds him. “Don’t you dare use that mind to be shifty now. Love me.” Quieter, she adds “Give me a baby, you fool.”

His hair is cloud soft and cat sleek against her thighs as he groans and kisses her firmly against her slit. His face must be a mess, but that’s nothing new.

“Baby, huh?” he says when he seems to have his composure back. She swears she can hear how his mouth is wet and his voice is a touch more gravelly than usual. “Cara mia wants a baby?” He’s using his elbows and knees to come up either side of her body on the tiny bed in his room. They’ve been through so much here, this piece of furniture has seen so many of their tears and trembles and confessions. Rarely has he been so gloriously naked as he is now. She loves how much of him she can feel. He is so perfectly warm and good to touch, she wants to grab him everywhere.

“I want your baby,” she says pointedly, rubbing her thighs together. He licked up a lot of her, but smeared just as much of her arousal around like some kind of conception spell. Leonardo has a touch of the mystic in him about all of this.

“I want to give it to you,” he growls as his face reaches hers. His palms slide along the insides of her hands and keep them on the mattress while he tilts her chin up with his nose so he can kiss her. “Damn, I want to give it to you,” he breathes against her lips. And then he grinds against her, shameless, and puts his tongue in her mouth just to tease her with what he’s not putting inside her.

She doesn’t know her own taste without the feel and flavor of his tongue anymore. He has made her very, very used to him. Now she gets a latent note of the sweetness of his cigarillos, like a memory under the flavor of her in his mouth. She yanks one hand free so she can slide it along his naked back in the same slow way he is kissing her. Serves him right.

He nips at her bottom lip so gently it gives her goosebumps from the heart-swelling tenderness. The kindness in this man is boundless. He moves to her ear so his whisper hits her like a velvet-wrapped sledge. “You sure about this here?” he asks. “Not somewhere... fancier?”

She knows he’s not asking about their location at all. “Do you want to stop?” she asks smugly. And he laughs, because these days they are used to the way she puts him on the right track.

“I can’t see why you’d think I am that cruel to you,” he murmurs, dragging the tip of that damn tongue up her throat in a powerful line of want that feels like it goes down beyond her toes. They are grinding against each other but it’s still slow, just their bodies finding the soft places where they give, where they can rest in each other.

“Hurry up before I get cruel,” she warns him, pressing a few of her nails into the swell of his back. It’s rare for a person to get close enough to a vampire to learn how supple their skin is, even if they chain smoke and don’t look after themselves well and occasionally drink paint water. The suppleness is real though, and the give of him under her nails makes them moan together.

“I want to call you a cruel mother, but I can’t yet.” He is more sober but still smiling.

“Maybe you can in a year,” she offers, releasing the press so she can stroke him with her nails instead. Light scratches, to soothe his nerves. His body moves into the touch like it always does. Catlike, sensual man.

“A mother, maybe,” he says, shifting his hips between hers, “But never cruel.”

His cock is so strong he doesn’t have to take himself in hand. He squeezes the hand of hers that he’s holding and uses his other to take her by the chin as he leans back slightly and fits himself against the space where he must go, if they’re going to do this. “You’re sure,” he says, a statement with some suspicion, but not a question.

She holds his gaze and nods. His eyes narrow but she sees the brilliant, timeless gold of them. “Do it,” she whispers. She doesn’t want to dare him but she has to show him her confidence or his might be lost, even in this, this thing he wants so very much. So she adds, challenge as light as her touch, “Give me a baby.”

The way his eyes slowly close as he pushes into her reminds her of the astrolabe he likes to tinker with, the slender glow of gold moving beyond the reach of light. He mutters the name of a saint when he bottoms out and comes back down to her mouth.

She’s tempted to tease him again, but this is a very special moment so she saves the feeling for a rainy day. This day is too beautiful and golden for it, his kiss to precious and profound. She does say, voice less sound than breath, “That’s it.”

His breath is a hiss, and he flexes inside her like a pulse of strength-- less than when he does it on purpose. “I know ‘that’s it,’ signora, you need me to show you?”

“That’s what I’m waiting for,” she tells him, unable to help herself when he literally asks for it. He teases her so much he definitely deserves this, and she’s hoping the banter will keep his mood clear of melancholy.

He makes some sound between a grunt and a sigh, with all the self-assurance of a more articulate declaration, and pulls his hips back.

“You want me to give it to you?” he murmurs. His voice is so low she tightens around his tip and wishes she were tightening around more of him. So she says yes, because she does want that. And she knows he does, too, he’s just scared of what he wants most.

Another of those grunt-sighs. “Guess I better, then,” he says, and slides home again. He’s slow about it, and he keeps his mouth right above hers so every way her lips tremble around her wordless cry make them move against him. “Better fill you up in every way, yeah?” He grinds against her, making her feel the deep, pleasurable fullness. He’s so perfect inside, she loves this man and his heart and his mind and everything that he is, but god, his cock in her is--

Leonardo’s groan is loud, much louder than usual, and then his voice is softer. “Should just be fucking you all the time anyway,” he mumbles. “This body was made to make children, you feel like heaven.”

It’s not as smooth as his usual lines, but he says it so openly she can feel her face getting hot. She won’t even try to say anything, she just squeezes his hand and presses her palm into his back and begs him with her body to please, please do it already.

And then he starts. Slow and deep, but every quality rising with the might of the sun itself. He uses his strength for once, so much that the only laziness is his warm voice between kisses.

“Fucking you,” he murmurs. “Putting a child in you.”

“Yes,” she hisses. He’s dragging himself along her top wall, using his strength to press up while he’s inside and make her legs and voice and everything about her feel like she is quaking. She is pushing her hips up to meet him, craving that carnal bump inside when he’s as deep as he can go, craving everything he’s going to give her.

Then he begins to pick up speed, not so fast she can’t keep up at all but much, much faster. He’s scooped his free hand under the back of her head to keep her in place for kisses, and he’s certainly giving her those, lots of kisses and lots of words. They pepper all the movements, spicy and tenderly dreamy all at once.

“This is going to change everything,” he whispers. “You’ll be full of me for months and then there will be a child. Carina piccola,” he says thickly. “You want a girl to give us trouble?”

She moans. There is no preference in her mind beyond their family growing. She just wants to be with him and be happy together.

He lowers his voice to a whisper again. “Maybe we should have more than one, you think?”

...She does now. All that work he did on her made her so ready for him. “Whatever you want,” she begs, before he can start talking again. He shushes her and very gently pulls at the hair behind her head.

“You gonna let me have this?”

“Yes,” she hisses again as he cradles her scalp once more. She’s not sure if he is testing her or teasing her with all the sought reassurances.

“Then I’m gonna take it,” he promises solemnly. He kisses her and grinds once more, so forcefully that the little bedframe-- well made, but only wood, after all-- creaks. “Not a good enough man not to,” he chuckles. She tries to shush him but he’s already sucking at her neck at that weak spot where the muscle joins her jaw, so she’s quickly sighing out little panting moans over how well he knows her, so she is too occupied to say anything.

Meanwhile he keeps talking. “Gonna fill you until you leak,” he tells her as he pulls back. “Until it splashes out of you, messy girl. Until there’s no chance your womb will be empty.” His thrusts are smooth and they are strong. Dependable. She believes him and she cries out his name even though what she’s calling out for is what he’s making her want.

He only feels good but she swears his strength is moving in her hard enough to scrape her insides. Then his teeth do scrape her, that paper-thin trail of fiery bliss flaring bright and making her wail again as he keeps right on fucking her. “Crying like a baby, now?” he teases, but the words are thick. He’s already thinking about late nights of exhaustion and the way they’ll endure. She can hear the way he’s half with her, pressing her into his mattress, and half in his dreams, pressing kisses to a precious newborn’s tiny fists.

“You’re the only woman,” he tells her passionately, “That I have ever--” he gulps.

She squeezes him again. She already knows this. “Stop holding back,” she whispers.

He groans twice, grips her hand so hard she feels the muscles of his palm, and then pushes himself so far into her that she feels the heat of the sheets under her and the warning of the headboard.

“Alright,” he mutters. “I’ll be good to you, I promise. So good, for this gift, both of you.” He is kissing her all along her throat like he’s trying to soothe the sweet burn he put there with his teeth. One day, she thinks. Soon. You’ll put your fangs in, Leonardo da Vinci. She keeps the thought as long as she can before his purposeful fucking lovingly batters it out of her brain like a freed butterfly.

“You gonna take what I give you?” he hisses, bringing her back into the moment. “Every drop, cara mia? Take it in. Take it. And then I’m gonna fold you up after this and do it all over again.”

His words shoot through her like wine on an empty stomach. That is exactly what she wants, for him to run after this purpose with all the single-mindedness his genius allows them. She swears beside his ear, lustful and permissive.

“Yeah? You like that, avida? Maybe I’ll turn you over when I’m done and make it three times to be safe and sure.”

There is nothing safe about the way her body shudders at the thought. From behind he always ruins her, especially when she’s already swollen and blissed out from all the ways he has touched her. She can imagine the way his cum will dribble out of her, lazy as he is, and the way he’ll look close and blow a little breath on her weeping slit just to mess with her for not keeping it inside.

Because he is Leonardo, or perhaps because he’s the devil, he slows. He brings the hand he’s clasping to his mouth to kiss, and then lets it go and slips the hand down and around her body, until he’s got her by the back. He’s wrapped around her, the other hand still firm at the back of her head, this new one angling her hips up just a little more for him.

“Almost,” he grits out, and though he may be the devil she wishes she could bless him when he speeds back up without further comment. The way he has tilted her makes her yelp, the sound so vulnerable and silly she would cringe if she were not so protected by the man who brought it out of her.

But he did bring it out of her, so he laughs, because he loves to put her offguard. “Sweet, so sweet, god, cara--moan for me while I make you a mother,” he tells.

She can feel how his arm is sweaty behind her, strong and slippery against her back. He’s got her right where he wants her, she knows she is mostly against the bed but it feels like he is bending over her womb itself, massive and powerful and undeniable. Good thing she doesn’t want to deny him. She moans, and the sound comes from low in her, like there is a line in her body and one side of it is where he’s filling her up and the other is where she breathes. It’s low and erotic, unmistakably the sound of a woman being loved.

He snarls-- she is so keyed up it is sweet in her ears-- and holds her closer. His thrusts are shorter because he can’t push her any farther down and he never wants to leave her body when he’s close.

“I can’t wait to see you swell,” he hisses. “You’re going to look like a goddess. You feeling fertile, cara?”

Another moan comes out of her like he yanked it by the root. She didn’t think she could be any more aroused. He pounces on what she likes. “Yeah, fertile,” he says with a smirk. “So open up for me.”

She tries, but he’s got her pinned with his hips and he’s stretching her so intensely that movement is confusing.

“Wider,” he demands.

All she wants to focus on is how close he is, how near they both are to the moment when it happens. But she does manage to tense her legs wider instead of tighter. Or so she hopes. really, all she can think of is how rigid he’s gone and how closely together they are pressed, like a baby can be made by fusion.

“Forza,” he mutters, “Let me in deep, forza. I want this to go straight up into you.”

“It will,” she insists, feeling like she is going to sob.

He tsks and sucks in breath that sounds like a growl, it is so loud. The one that comes out definitely is. “Never forget you were first,” he tells her. She can hear the way he’s losing himself even as he keeps the rhythm of rocking their hips back and forth together. “Merda--” he groans and then clamps his mouth shut and presses it against the side of her neck until she can feel her own pulse beating back against the contact. It’s as fast as the heat streaming out into her in spurts. She can feel each one. They feel thick inside her, like something that brings life ought to feel.

Leonardo is breathing hard and has opened his mouth to say her name with great wonder. She feels like she is preening as he kisses her throat. Maybe there’s something to be said for being a fertility goddess when the time is right.

He gently, gently presses against her as he kisses her again. Deep kisses, like he wants to wind their souls together. She wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

“Do you think it worked?” he whispers. His voice has so much half-hidden hope in it she feels the prick of tears at the outer corner of each eye.

“I hope so,” she tells him. Her hand never left his back, so she drifts it up into the sweaty shagginess of his hair and pulls his lips back to hers. “I can’t wait to find out,” she adds. She gets goosebumps when she says it, so she is smiling when they kiss and so is he, two curves meeting like the sea and the shore.

Leonardo stays inside her. She thinks he really does want to somehow be woven together. He keeps kissing her, massaging the back of her head where he’s held her this whole time, murmuring how alluring she is. His hardness in her is proof of his words.

“Wanna have you again,” he tells her between kisses. “Now. Just in case.”

“Well then don’t hold anything back,” she whispers, putting her other arm around him. His grin above her is dark and beautiful, so wide she can see the point of one fang and how he caresses it with his tongue. He does the same thing when someone brings him a lock with no key, or any other challenge.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he promises. “Too many other dreams.”

And then he does his best to make them come true.