#darkromance

[s-soulwriter]

Dark past ideas

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sepulcher-of-the-light]

Vampire among cypresses, by Lucas Garcete

[oldwinesoul]

[lighthousepigeons]

[During the Heathens initiation]

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

Brandon: *Runs*

Niko, confused: Not like towards me though.

Brandon:

[shiklah]

sacrifice

Castlevania

Hector x vampire!reader

She loved to peek into that room, shrouded in darkness. She would watch him in secret as he brought to life another hellish creature, which writhed at his feet with a cacophony of noise. She observed his face—focused, grim, and gray.

No human had ever been so close to her, even though they hadn't spoken much. Yet he fascinated her to the point where she could watch him for days. He was proud, intelligent, a creator... No king or monarch, willing to give up their treasures for a mere glimpse of her attention, could compare to him. He had no wealth, only talent. Oh, but what talent it was.

"You are magnificent," she finally spoke, seeing Hector set down the hammer on the stone table and straighten himself with a heavy movement. She stepped deeper into the room, and he gave her a tired glance. "I didn’t mean to interrupt, but truly, you are fascinating. What you do is fascinating."

"I saw you watching me," he replied at last, crossing his arms over his chest. He leaned against the stone counter and measured her with his eyes, from her feet to the top of her head. She wore a purple gown that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Her hair, partly styled in intricate braids at the back of her head, partly flowing down her shoulders, framed her pale face. Her lips were accentuated by dark lipstick, which emphasized the whiteness of her sharp, dagger-like fangs—something that had caught his attention when she had laughed with a delicate, pearly sound at his words.

"I must admit, I thought I could get away with it," she shook her head as if somewhat embarrassed by the fact she had been caught in the act. "But why didn’t you say a word?"

The man lowered his gaze from her and fixed it on the stone floor. A silence settled, interrupted only by his steady breathing and the rustling of her precious gown. She studied his pale hair, simple robe, calloused hands, and couldn’t escape the thought that they were so very different from one another.

"Your gaze flatters me," he admitted in a soft, deep voice, and she felt a sudden shiver run down her spine. She smiled instantly and walked even deeper into the room, maneuvering between the patches of dried blood staining the floor.

He saw her figure glide toward him like a swan over the calm surface of a lake, but she only seemed real when he felt her presence beside him. Usually, vampires stirred feelings of unease and disgust in him, maybe a specific kind of fascination, but she was different. Just one of her glances, sent through a small crack in the door, could give him so much confidence and spread through his body a warm, unexpected wave of safety and love he had never felt before. He wasn’t even sure if it was love or if he simply didn’t want to name that feeling.

"You’re kind to me," she suddenly said, placing her cool, delicate hand on his rough, warm one. He looked into her dead eyes, noticing sadness and worry in them—feelings he hadn’t expected. She was a cheerful soul, which was rare in their times. That made her even more special and fascinating to him. "Know that I know very well what Carmilla advised you to do. I knew from the very beginning."

He didn’t know why he was surprised. Her and Carmilla were sisters. They ruled together in Styria, came to Dracula’s castle together, made decisions together, and planned every step together. He realized that she must have known about the dishonorable proposal that Carmilla had made to him and that he had been pondering so intensely.

He was surprised, however, that she had also brought up this topic with him. He couldn’t reconcile her delicate, pleasant nature with betrayal, war, and death.

"If you ask me, I will agree without hesitation," he whispered at last, confessing all the feelings he carried inside him, feelings he hadn’t dared name. He felt her slender fingers tighten on his hand and sensed her exhale heavily as she traced her thumb along his wrist.

"Don’t agree, Hector," she finally said, closing her eyes. She released his hand and sighed deeply. "Carmilla is an excellent strategist and a woman of great intellect, but her heart is as hard as stone. Beware, she will use you without mercy and treat you like a dog when the time that favors her comes. Don’t let her deceive you, and leave this castle as soon as possible. Flee the land of Wallachia."

Her words seemed not to reach him. How many times had he thought about how he could start a new life, with her by his side? Maybe it was naive thinking, but that hope was the only thing that could bring even a shadow of a smile to his face.

"And forgive me," she sobbed, swaying on her feet. Hector caught her almost limp body and held her tightly to his chest, not letting her fall. "Forgive me for agreeing to be a part of this plot. Carmilla was my whole world, I knew nothing but her. This may not be an excuse, but know that I wish neither anger nor death upon you. So I advise you to flee, and it would be better if fate never brought you across my path again."

Her despair seemed almost theatrical, but he knew it was sincere. He pulled her tighter to his body, squeezing almost all the air out of her. The woman breathed heavily again and quietly cried, pressing her hands to her chest.

"Run away with me," he suddenly proposed, pushing her away from him by the length of his arm. She staggered in his still strong grip like a doll, struggling to regain her balance. "I know you don’t desire war and conquest. I know you don’t need fame and power. So run away with me."

She heard footsteps on the stairs and immediately broke free from his embrace. They both carefully watched the entrance to the room, expecting the appearance of an unexpected guest or someone who, with ill intent, had overheard their emotional conversation. And it didn’t matter whether it was someone connected to Carmilla or Dracula, in both cases, they would be deprived of their lives.

"We are too reckless," she finally said when the last echo of the footsteps disappeared into the darkness of the gloomy corridor. "If I run away with you, I will remain your problem for a long, long time, if not for eternity. Are you ready for that sacrifice, Hector?"

[spacebabesuki]

Love Potion - Hellcheer

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

oneshot, word count 2.3k [+16]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

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

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

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

Witchcraft.

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

Witchcraft.

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

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

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

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

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

And he wanted to be forever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, he was obsessed with her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[jtargaryen18]

Hounds of Hell MC 4: Ryder ~ Available today!

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

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

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

Buy it @ Changeling Press

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

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

Excerpt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Margot smiled. “Please do.”

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

[fizermusic]

Welcome to the Ghost Town

[novinablog]

When a noble man falls in love

A man

Just a man

With a life of luxury

He has a hidden fault

He is engaged to an elegant woman

Just as a formality for his family

But another version of him

He is empty and bored in his life

He meet a innocent and beautiful girl

He likes to make her cry

And he knows

Not as expected

He is fall in love and obsessed with her

He found love

Like a corridor exposed to daylight

Only he belongs to the girl

Love has taken over his heart

Even though he knows

He has made a mistake

Like a wine

Delicious but intoxicating

He love her

And he hate himself

The same time

[amandakassis]

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

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

Read it on AO3 or Wattpad.

[sepulcher-of-the-light]

Cosmic love, art by Lucas Garcete

[oldwinesoul]

[lighthousepigeons]

Briar: Is that a hickey?

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

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

Lyra: It was a big snake. Mama snake.

Thatcher: *Walks in*

Briar: Hello mama snake.

[battinscnz]

𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑫𝑶𝑵 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮 & 𝑵𝑰𝑲𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑰 𝑺𝑶𝑲𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑽: 𝑰𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑴 𝑨𝑬𝑺𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑻𝑰𝑪

[roshnispeaks]

[sweetiesshortstories]

Being His Favorite Pet Is Hard Work pt2

NSFW

I can say no. I can refuse him, and make this difficult. I can make owning me awful for him until he doesn't want me. But I don't want to. I'm tired. So very tired. I want an easy life, something soft and safe. I want to be wanted. Wordlessly, I move my hands to my back and begin pulling at the lace threads that hold my dress in place. The material is rich and heavy, desperate to fall, but I keep my arms against my body to hold it up. Once the laces are loose I hold the front of my dress, unwilling to let it fall just yet.

"You're a good listener. I like that. Now, move yours hands." His eyes are so dark I'm lost in them. Slowly, I move my hands, dropping my arms to my side and letting the dress join my veil but I replace them quickly. I cover myself with my hands and try to mask the embarrassment I feel at being so exposed.

Orin closes his eyes and brings his face close to mine. I expect him to kiss me, instead he inhales. Deeply. He moves his face over my chest, nudging my hands away. His breath brushes my skin, it makes my stomach tighten.

"You have such a unique, sweet scent. Tell me, are you afraid of me?" He opens his eyes and stares intently into my own.

"No." I answer, because it's true. I'm not afraid of him, I'm afraid of being rejected by him. I'm afraid of another community seeing me as nothing and expelling me. So I need Orin to like me, I need for that to somehow be enough.

"Mmm, that answer makes it hard to hold back." He dips his head down and I feel his tongue trail between my breasts and up to neck. It takes my breath away. I sway, my legs feel weak. He grabs my waist and lifts me from the floor and sets me on a table top. It's cold beneath me, and it feels so high. I'm just below Orin's chin on the table and his unreadable expression is suddenly very legible. He's ravenous.

He stands tall and looks down at me as he presses his body close to mine. Orin pulls at his shirt and the buttons pop open quickly, I can barely contain my amazement. At his strength, his form, his sheer size.

He looks hard, like he's built of the stone that my clan builds our homes out of. And I want to touch him but I'm scared to. Everything I do is wrong, especially when I try to do it right.

"Untie my laces." He's beathing deeply, his chest is rising and falling rapidly. My eyes travel down from his dark eyes, and the thick wavy hair draped over his shoulders, down his chiseled chest, to the ties of his trousers. With shaky fingers I tug at the leather threads, loosening the knots and pulling the leather free from the loops.

The top of his pants open and I can see that he, like me, has nothing on under his clothes. I bite my lip and swallow as I rest my hands on my lap. Everything is happening so quickly, I'm not sure I'm prepared.

"You're trembling." Orin strokes my cheeks with his knuckles. "You are fearful." He takes a half step back but I reach for him. I can't let him leave, I have to do this right the first time.

"No!" My hand is on his lower back, and my heart pumps rapidly as he stares at me. I have to convince him I'm worth having. "I'm not scared it's just...you're so much bigger than me. I'm nervous." Orin drops his eyes down my form, as if truly considering the size difference for the first time. He steps closer to me again, and I keep my hand on his back, enjoying the feel of his bare skin.

"You're nervous I'll hurt you." He looks at my other hand resting on my lap and slides his own hand under it. His palm alone swallows most of my hand. "We treat our women delicately. Hurting you wouldn't bring me any pleasure."

He sounds sincere, his voice is warm and I somehow manage to relax my body. He guides my hand towards his stomach and then lowers it towards his pants, my eyes follow.

"Take it out and tell me if it's too big."

"What?" My eyes are wide, I stare up at him with my lips parted.

"I'm mostly hard right now, but not completely. Pull my cock out and get me fully hard. If you think it's too much, we'll acquaint ourselves in other ways."

His blunt manner of speaking is something to get used to. I'm finding it difficult to keep my hand steady as I slip it into his pants and search for him. It's hardly a search, though. He's straining against his pants, eager to break free. I hear Orin's breathing catch as my fingers wrap around his thick length and guide him from his trousers. It juts from the opening and pokes my abdomen, and it's my turn for my breath to catch. It's as imposing as his physical presence, long, thick, and throbbing.

With both hands I cup him, and begin to stroke him. He does still feel slightly soft, but that doesn't last long. With each rub from my hands he gets harder, until drops of anticipation are pearling at the head of his shaft.

When I glance up to look at Orin I see the pleasure on his face, the approval, and know it's my time to act. I grip his shaft and tilt him up towards me and cover his head with my mouth. I hear Orin hiss and for a second I'm afraid I took too big a leap.

"You're setting quite the tone, Pet." He breathes as he rests his hand on my head. His taste floods my tongue as I engulf him and suck. His hand, it feels so good on me. The warmth, the soft pressure, a gentle encouragement. He's large, I can't take the majority of him in my mouth, so I use my hands for the rest. Stroking the soft skin of his pulsing shaft with each suck.

I'm going to succeed in this. I'm going to make Orin fall for me, crave me. I'll make him need me desperately. I'll be his pet. His response to me is exhilarating and it's fueling me, making me want to do better, be better. Anything to keep this attention on me. I'm the focus here. I matter.

Orin moves his hand from the back of my head and slips it under my chin, pulling my mouth from him, leaving his head wet with my saliva. I look up at him in question but he crashes his mouth on mine. I almost can't respond, until his tongue pushes through my lips and coaxes my own to dance. It's only then I realize how wet I am, how much moisture built between my thighs as I worked his girthy cock down my throat. I'm not sure I can fit him, but I'm more than willing to try.

His hands grip my bottom and I'm lifted slightly from the table's surface, causing me to grab his shoulders. I'm spinning, drunk on his attention, his affection, his touch. I feel him between my legs, rubbing himself on me, his head stroking my clit. It's feels so much larger down there than it did in my mouth, and the nervousness begins to kick in again.

"You're tense" Orin says against my lips, his heavy breathing blending with mine, "Maybe we need to do this another way. Wrap your legs around me." He lifted me above his groin and I obey, wrapping my legs around his waist as he begins to move us.

I'm breathing quickly as he ascends the stairs and takes us down a dark hallway. It's cold up here, where no fires have been lit, but being against Orin helps. The cold isn't affecting me as much with him touching me. He carries me into a dark room and I fall back onto a plush surface that's cool against my skin.

My nipples tighten as a chill travels through my body but within seconds I'm covered by Orin, and he's nuzzling my neck. His breath is warm and covers my skin like a blanket as his lips move down my neck and across my chest. He's inhaling deeply as he does so, as if he wants to absorb me. He's slow and methodical with his movements and I can't help but to feel like prey.

"I'll be gentle," he murmurs against my breast as he nips at my flesh. "So, so, gentle. But I have to be inside of you once." He takes my breast into his mouth and runs his tongue over my puckered nipple, making me gasp aloud. If this is how they treat their pets, I'll be a pet every damn day.

Orin rises above me and grabs my hips, he guides me towards him and I feel his large head pushing at my entrance. I'm so hungry for him, but he feels impossibly large.

"I can read you, your body's responsive. I won't hurt you." His voice is breathy but controlled as he gently works his head into me. Slowly rocking me back and forth, getting his head a little further inside of me each time. I'm getting wetter with each push, and more desperate to be filled, but I trust Orin. I trust his pace.

His restraint is apparent, I can feel how desperately he wants to spear me and ravage me over and over. I can feel the tension in his hands as he holds me, and slowly guides himself into me. When his head fully slips inside I can't help the sigh I release, loud and airy. The sensation of him filling me is causing a fire in my abdomen.

"You're doing so well for someone that was nervous moments ago." His hand flutters over my abdomen as he lowers me back onto the bed. "Stay relaxed, I'm gonna go deeper." His palm is warm and flat on my stomach, as if holding me in place as he painstakingly inches inside of me.

I didn't know it could feel like this...I didn't know I could feel like this.

I'm laying down flat but I need something stable, something to keep me grounded, so I reach for him. My nails brush across his rib cage as I desperately search for something to grasp. Before I can find my place he wraps his fingers around one of my wrists and brings my hand to his mouth and kisses my fingers, my knuckles, the inside of my wrist. And strangely, I feel a burning in my eyes and moisture building on the rim of my eyelids.

Has this always been possible? These feelings...have I always been able to feel this way and just never could?

"You feel exactly how I imagined you would." He murmurs against my hand, sinking still further inside of me. We're almost flush together now, pelvis to pelvis, core to core, and I can't keep it to myself. Pitiful whines are escaping my throat as I feel him fill me in ways I never imagined until he's finally, fully inside of me.

He makes a noise, something deep and guttural, before he leans forward and covers me with his form. His heart thuds against me and our skin sticks together, perspiration coating us both. I feel a quake in his body, his limbs, even his breath is unsteady as he slowly finds a pace. Loosening me up little by little, he works himself in and out of me, forcing more noises from my throat.

I think I'm about to unravel and fall to pieces, and when he licks my neck, grazing his teeth over my flesh the noise that escapes my lips sounds foreign. I move my arms up until I can pull them out from between our bodies and I wrap them around his neck, pressing my chest flat to his. I want him to feel my heart as clearly as I can feel his.

Eventually, his pace quickens. His elbow digs into the bed at my side while his other hand holds my waist, his fingers digging into me as he gets more feral. And I can barely control my eyes. My muscles are weak and confused, overstimulation has my body reacting in ways I don't understand, but I know I'm hungry for more. It's almost laughable to me now that I thought he wouldn't fit because I can't imagine doing anything else at this moment.

There's a pressure building in my stomach and my chest feels like the fire in the center square, only it's getting dangerously bigger. Every second he's inside of me feeds the flame, making it grow, making it wild, I didn't know what to do with myself. I hold onto him tighter, one hand holds the back of his head and I feel my nails grip onto him. As if I could fall away, far into the earth, never to feel these sensations again.

I don't think I can handle anymore.

There isn't enough air in the room, and I'm losing my grip. But he's sliding in and out of me so quickly, so deeply, that I just...scream.

I tighten my arms around Orin and bury my face into his neck as my body begins to spasm and convulse. The sounds I make are inhuman, a trembling cry that I'm unable to silence and it's almost alarming to me. I feel Orin tense and tremble above me before he groans and bites down on my shoulder.

For a moment, time stills. I'm wrapped in elation, my head spinning, my body vibrating, and the only sound I can hear outside of my beating heart is the deep breathing of Orin.

I so desperately hope I did this right...