#if this is a preview for the race i will loose it

[sunny-sainz]

it’s just free practice. it’s just free practice. it’s just free practice. it’s just free practice. it’s just free practice…

[smileysuh]

twisted fate

🌙 staring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “He deserved it,” Wonwoo assures you, reaching out to grab you by the back of the neck, pulling you closer. He’s covered in blood, and he looks like a sexy, wild monster. But he’s your monster, and you can’t help but react, leaning in- “Jesus Christ,” you hear Jeonghan breathe, turning to give you and Wonwoo privacy while he presses his lips against yours hungrily. At first, you can try to ignore the wet liquid on your fingertips as you grab at his strong shoulders, but you can’t ignore the taste on his tongue. Your body goes rigid and Wonwoo pulls back with a sigh, resting his forehead against yours. It’s an oddly peaceful moment amongst the chaos.

tw/cw. murder/blood, dickhead vampire wonwoo, yandere subthemes, kidnapping?, biting, blood play, throat grabbing, manhandling, begging, controlling!wonwoo, praise, dirty talk, fingering, mean dom Wonwoo, multiple reader orgasms, finger-licking, choking, unprotected sex, big dick Wonwoo, size kink, slight dacryphilia, gentle spanking, dumbification, begging, hair pulling, etc… I pet names: (hers) darling, brat, pet, etc.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 14.3k

🍭 aus. vampire/vampire hunter au, soulmate au, enemies to lovers, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I guess for October I just put out bangers, this one has a lot of blood play cuz it's vampire wonwoo, so be warned

There’s something different about you, and Wonwoo notices the moment you step into the bar. He has his fair share of experience with places that cater to vampires, and after over a hundred years, he knows how to spot humans with an interest in his kind. Many of the women swarming around him have a certain look in their eye, their pulses racing with excitement, but you… well, there’s something off about the way you hold yourself.

You certainly look the part of a fang bunny, your attire all black, but you’re dressed much more conservatively than the lingerie clad girls that normally frequent this place. Still, even with your form half hidden under a leather jacket, Wonwoo can tell he likes what he sees of you. 

Some of his friends like the hunt. They have big egos and take pleasure in chasing their food down, but Wonwoo doesn’t share in this thirst for a conquest. He won’t approach you, he’ll simply watch. It will be amusing to see what you end up doing tonight if nothing else.

His eyes follow you as you head to the bar, leaning over the counter to talk with one of the human workers. From a distance, and with the bar practically full of noise, Wonwoo can’t make out your words, but that doesn’t really matter to him. You’re interesting enough to watch, but Wonwoo’s not sure he’d actually care for anything you have to say, especially not when he can stare at your ass instead.

The discussion is a short one, and Wonwoo catches the bartender nodding in his direction. This is new behaviour, but the vampire supposes he shouldn’t be shocked at the loose lipped humans who work here. No one keeps a secret like a vampire, and as Wonwoo watches you slip a bill over the counter, he’s filled with annoyance at the money hunger of mere mortals.

You slip into the crowd again, and it’s clear you’re making your way over toward the elevated section of the club, where Wonwoo sits at a table drinking what appears to be red wine with two of his broodmates. 

“Who are you watching?” Mingyu asks, leaning forward to get a better look. 

“No one important,” Wonwoo responds smoothly, swirling the blood in his wine glass before downing it. He’s curious as to what will happen next, and if you are coming over in the hopes of being bitten, he wants to be satiated enough to not give into the temptation of draining you. 

Vampire bars generally have a strict no killing policy. The underworld has few sanctuaries like this one, and they can’t have human law enforcement going through their ‘wine barrels’ if a murder takes place in or around the property. 

Wonwoo’s eyes find you again. You’re much closer now, and your gaze is fixed on him. You’re like a cute little butterfly heading straight for the spider’s web, and it makes Wonwoo grin to himself. 

He stands up from the booth when you’re a few feet away, and Wonwoo notes your pulse quicken, your steps faltering. To your credit, Wonwoo is much larger now than when he was sitting, and he has to lower his gaze to meet your own. “Are you lost?” he asks, taking in your outfit at a leisurely pace now that you’re right in front of him.

“No, I-” You take a breath. “Are you Wonwoo?”

“Depends who’s asking,” he muses.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you try to explain, raising your voice over the noise of the bar. 

Wonwoo can hear you perfectly fine, but he knows the noise must be difficult on your weak human ears. He leans forward. “Sounds interesting. Let’s step outside to talk, it’s too loud in here.”

He watches the way you pause, considering the proposition.

You’re definitely not a fang bunny. Any vampire lover would jump at the chance to get alone with him. You’re much too guarded, and it intrigues him even more.

“Okay,” you nod. 

Wonwoo steps closer, hand finding the small of your back as he begins to guide you through the club toward the back exit. You stiffen under his touch, and Wonwoo’s fingers skim over the hilt of what he presumes to be a blade under your leather jacket.

He wonders how you got in with a badly concealed weapon, but he supposes the human bouncers can be just as susceptible to bribery as bartenders can. He’ll have to talk with the club owner about hiring vampire security, even if such jobs are ‘below’ his kind. 

Your heart rate is increasing with each step, but you’re doing your best to breathe evenly, and Wonwoo is amused by it. Either you know he’s a vampire, in which case, you should know you can’t fool him, or, maybe you’re just stupid, he can’t quite tell.

Wonwoo’s heart doesn’t beat. It hasn’t in too many years to count, but he gets that familiar tingle of excitement running along his skin as he gets closer to the door that will lead you behind the bar. You’re not a sure catch, not what Mingyu would fondly call a ‘cute juicebox.’ Wonwoo’s always been curious, and his interest is peaked by the unknown outcome of this interaction.

As you make it to the exit, Wonwoo holds the door open for you. With one last pause, you walk through. 

The vampire grins to himself, following you into the night.

The alleyway is deserted, the perfect spot for Wonwoo to figure you out. 

His eyes follow you as you put a few feet of distance between him and yourself, running an anxious hand through your hair. 

“You were just about to tell me why you’re looking for me,” Wonwoo says, pretending to be helpful, when in reality, he only wants to satiate his own curiosity.   

“I heard you might know someone I’ve been trying to find, a Mister Sung.”

Wonwoo’s throat tightens. He hasn’t heard his maker’s name in many years. It frustrates him that it still has an effect on him, and Wonwoo’s fist clenches at his side. “I don’t know anyone by that name,” he lies. 

“I’ve been told you do,” you insist.

He’s tired of you now, anger growing by the second inside of him.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Wonwoo repeats, unable to say the name in question. He refuses to taste it on his lips again, and he can feel his fangs beginning to throb, his need to taste something sweeter growing as he stares you down. 

You begin to reach for your jacket, but you’re much too slow for the older vampire, who immediately catches your wrist in a vice grip. 

“Don’t grab your weapon,” he warns. “It will only make me harder on you.”

Your pulse is racing now. Wonwoo can see your carotid artery leaping against your skin. He holds back a groan, stepping closer. 

You move away, back hitting the brick wall behind you.

“Nowhere to run,” Wonwoo muses. “You’re a vampire hunter, aren’t you, darling? Shame. I’ve never seen a hunter move as slow as you do. But I guess these days there aren’t many people who could teach you the craft, I’ve killed my share of them.”

Your pupils dilate with fear, and it makes Wonwoo’s head spin. He’s going to enjoy this. 

The club might have a no killing humans policy, but vampire hunters are free game. He’ll be doing everyone a favour, and get his fill while doing it. 

“Stop-” You gasp, struggling against his grip, but Wonwoo’s hands might as well be metal, as there’s no way you’re breaking free of him.

He’s grown tired of this. As a curious human who may have walked into the wrong bar, you’d been interesting, but as a vampire hunter with no skill, you mean nothing to him. 

He’s amused when you try to punch at him with your free hand, but that only leads to him grabbing it and pinning it with your other wrist, squeezing you tight enough to have you gasping again. 

With both your wrists captured in one hand, he’s free to bring the other to your face, pinching your jaw. “Don’t scream,” he warns you, “and don’t struggle, you’ll only make things worse.”

Wonwoo’s gotten accustomed to staring into a person’s eyes as they realize they’ve just met death himself, and he’ll never get tired of it. He licks his lips, able to taste your fear in the cold night air. His self control has worn thin, but Wonwoo’s never been the type to hold himself back from an easy kill. 

With one sharp motion, he pushes your head to the side, giving him full access to your neck. Your artery leaps, pressing against your skin, and Wonwoo lets out a groan of relief as he dives in, sharp fangs piercing you.

You release a muffled gasp, clawing at his forearm while you struggle against the wall. The taste that erupts across his tongue is unlike anything he’s ever had before. It’s rich like fine red wine, but there’s something else too, dark notes of cherry and pomegranate- 

Suddenly, it feels like Wonwoo’s been roughly punched in the chest. It’s so startling that he pulls away from you, staggering back in confusion and releasing your wrists. Clearly you didn’t punch him, so what was that-

You take the moment of confusion to whip your blade out of your jacket, holding one hand to your bleeding neck while you defend yourself with the other. “Stay back!” 

But Wonwoo can’t stay back, not now that you’re more intriguing than ever.

He stands, licking his lips. He can still taste you on his tongue, and it’s practically intoxicating. 

Wonwoo’s eyes shift to the weapon you’re holding. It’s a black, triple bladed knife, used by vampire hunters and meant to emulate a stake. One good stab from that and there’s no stitching it up, he’d be scarred forever, even with vampiric healing abilities. And if you actually hit his heart? He’d simply be gone.

Maybe you have more bite than he’d given you credit for, but Wonwoo knows he can still best you in a fight, he’ll just have to be a little more careful.

“I swear to God-” you warn him, waving the blade.

“Darling, there’s no God here,” Wonwoo tells you simply, eyes assessing your every motion. It’s clear which side of your body you favour, and with one hand still pressed to your bleeding neck, he has an easy opening.

When Wonwoo moves to the left, you turn your body to follow, and that’s all he needs to abuse your weak point. With lightning fast speed, Wonwoo gives your abdomen a rough push, sending you careening back to the wall. There’s a harsh crack as your head hits brick, and you crumple to the ground, blade falling from your hand.

Maybe he’d pushed you too hard- he hadn’t been trying to- but he can still hear your faint breaths. You’re alive, and you might not be that way for long.

Wonwoo has never, in all his years of living, given another being his blood. He’s never wished to. But staring down at you now, that all changes. He can hear your pulse getting weaker-

The vampire falls to his knees next to you, grabbing you by the back of your neck and pulling you closer. He brings his other wrist to his mouth, biting deep before holding it over your parted lips. 

 Wonwoo watches the dark red substance speckle your tongue and he presses two fingers under your jaw, closing your mouth in the hopes it will help you swallow. His wrist wound is already healing, and soon, you’ll heal as well.

There’s no medicine in the world quite like vampire blood, especially the blood of one as old as he. Wonwoo knows this. However, there’s still something inside of him that begins to worry about you. It’s a foreign emotion, worry, one he’s not had to deal with in a while, especially not in regard to a human.

Wonwoo grabs your blade off the ground, tucking it into his belt, then he adjusts you in his arms. It’s easier to simply throw you over his shoulder, so that’s what he does, standing up and looking toward the mouth of the alleyway. He can’t risk any humans seeing this, so he pulls out his phone, calling Mingyu.

“Bring the car to the back of the club,” Wonwoo instructs, leaving no room for argument as he hangs up. 

Less than two minutes later, Mingyu’s familiar black jeep is rolling down the alleyway. The car comes to a stop and Mingyu exits it, staring at Wonwoo in shock. “What happened?”

“Vampire hunter,” Wonwoo says simply, opening the door to the back of the jeep to set you inside. 

“What are you going to do with her?” Mingyu asks, watching through the rearview mirror as Wonwoo gets in beside you.

The elder vampire is quiet for a long while. “I’m not sure.”

Wonwoo is sitting in a chair near the bed, playing with your knife and watching over you diligently. It takes hours before you finally begin to stir. When you wake, you bolt upright, gasping. Your hand flies to your neck, but the wounds are already closed, your skin washed away of blood.

Your eyes find him next, and Wonwoo can’t help but be amused by the way you react, cowering away from him.

“So sleeping beauty finally wakes up,” Wonwoo muses, tossing the blade in his hand and catching it by the hilt.

You don’t say anything, but Wonwoo can see the cogs turning in your mind. “Why… why am I alive?”

“That’s a good question,” one he doesn’t know the answer to yet. 

“Am I a vampire?” 

Now Wonwoo is laughing. “No. Can you feel your heart racing? It’s a sign that you’re still human.”

You shift in his sheets. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he confesses. “First, I’d like some answers.”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“Then I’ll tell you what I know,” he suggests. “This symbol on your blade, it’s a family crest. You belong to a line of vampire hunters.” You stay quiet, but to be fair, it hadn’t been a question, not really. “I recougnize this particular crest. It’s odd to see it again after so many years. I thought your line had been wiped out, but you’re still here, so I guess not.”

“Just kill me,” you state.

Your words cause an interesting feeling to bloom through Wonwoo’s chest again, and he cocks his head. “Is that really what you want?”

You bite your lip, then let out a heavy sigh. “No.”

The vampire stands from his chair. “At least I know why you were looking for Mister Sung now,” he says. “He killed your family, didn’t he?”

You stay quiet, but Wonwoo notes the small tremble that erupts through your form and it’s confirmation enough. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Wonwoo continues, “the vampire you’re looking for is dead. I killed him. Ten years ago.”

“He’s dead?” you ask, clearly shocked.

“It seems you’ve been running a fool's errand, darling,” Wonwoo clicks his tongue. “And you nearly died for it. I don’t think your parents would be too happy with you.”

It’s a low blow, and it causes a reaction. Your fists bunch in the sheets and your eyes narrow. “What do you know about my parents?” you spit. 

“I know they never got a chance to train you properly. I bet you’ve never even killed a vampire.”

Your shoulders slump ever so slightly and Wonwoo knows he’s hit the nail on the head.

“A vampire hunter with no kills under her belt,” Wonwoo laughs, “it’s cute you thought you could actually get me to be your first.”

“If you have everything figured out, what do you still need me for?”

“There’s still one thing I’m stuck on,” Wonwoo admits. “You did something to me, when I bit you. There was this… feeling, in my chest.”

“I didn’t do anything to you.”

He studies you for a moment. It’s true he hadn’t found any vampire repellents on you when he’d brought you back to his home. He’d kind of been hoping you’d tell him you’re a witch, and in a last ditch effort to get him away from you in the alley you’d used a spell of some sort. 

Wonwoo doesn’t want to consider the other possibility, he’s been refusing to even think about it, but now that the witch angle is off the table, the worst case scenario is at the forefront of his thoughts.

“I’ve got business to attend to,” he tells you simply, heading to the door. “You’ll be locked in this room until I figure out what I’m going to do with you.”

“And when will that be?!”

Wonwoo can hear the panic in your voice, and in some form he can sympathize with it. He’d been kept in a room for many years, under the command of a vampire sire he’d since revenged upon. “Not long,” Wonwoo promises, and it’s the most he can give you as reprieve before he shuts you into your fate.

“What’s so important we couldn’t do this over the phone or at the club?” Jeonghan asks as Wonwoo pushes into his home. 

“Give me a minute,” Wonwoo says, double-checking his friend's apartment for any fang bunnies or other vampires who could take what he’s about to say and use it against him.

“You’re so paranoid,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “You wanted us to be alone, so we’re alone.”

Wonwoo turns to face the vampire in front of him. “Tell me about Luna.” 

“You-” Jeonghan falters. “You never want to hear about Luna.”

“But I do now,” Wonwoo insists. “Tell me.”

Jeonghan moves to sit on his couch, and Wonwoo can tell that the mere name of Jeonghan’s lost love is nearly too much for him to handle, even after so many years.

“What do you want to know?” Jeonghan asks finally.

“You said she was your soulmate.”

“And you called me crazy for it, everyone did.” Perhaps this is another reason it’s such a sore subject. 

“Not everyone,” Wonwoo points out. “Sung didn’t like it.” 

Jeonghan visibly flinches at the name of their old master, and it’s no wonder why. Sung had gone after anything his fledglings found beautiful, and much more. It’s one of the many reasons Wonwoo had found a way to kill him, ending their eternal torment… but he’d been too late to save Luna, and it’s something he’s always regretted. Jeonghan is a shell of who he was before, and deep in Wonwoo’s black twisted soul, he knows that the man he used to call one of his closest friends will never truly be whole again. 

“She was my soulmate,” Jeonghan says, but at this point, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of that fact.

“How did you know?” Wonwoo presses.

“It was a feeling, I can’t really explain it.”

“Try.” 

Jeonghan lets out a deep sigh. “There was something about Luna, I knew it the moment I first saw her. I couldn’t describe it, especially not to any other vampires. She wasn’t just prey, she was more than that.”

She was enough for Jeonghan to turn her into a vampire, intent on spending the rest of eternity with her, an eternity that never came, for one of them at least.

“The first time I tasted her,” Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair. “She was like citrus and sunshine, I’d never experienced anything like her.” This is far off from the red wine and pomegranates Wonwoo had tasted when he’d had you. “It was the oddest thing- there was this feeling, in my chest-”

“Like a punch,” Wonwoo suggests.

Jeonghan’s eyes shift to him, and then he nods. “Yeah, like a punch.”

Wonwoo almost feels sick. “I still don’t understand how this made you realize she was your soulmate.”

“I couldn’t hurt her,” Jeonghan explains, “even if I’d wanted to. And when I tasted her again, when she let me drink from her, I realized what the feeling in my chest was.”

“What was it?” 

Jeonghan studies Wonwoo. “It was my heart.”

“Your heart?” 

The long haired vampire nods. “An echo. A memory of the life I once had. Luna made my heart beat again, if only when I was with her. She made me soft, like I’d been when I was human, before Sung and the eternal night.”

Wonwoo sits on the couch across from Jeonghan, looking down at his hands.

This can’t be true. Wonwoo had never believed it before- but now, well, now he’s experienced it for himself. 

How can a vampire’s whole long life change in one chance meeting?

Except, it hadn’t been chance, not really. Sung had ruined your life as he’d ruined Wonwoo’s, and fate had inexplicably tied you together. 

He truly can’t believe it.

“Why do you want to know all of this?” Jeonghan asks.

Wonwoo almost doesn’t want to admit it, for Jeonghan’s sake as much as his own. So he lies. “No reason.”

Jeonghan leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t tell me you’ve found your own soulmate.” When Wonwoo remains silent, Jeonghan lets out a small laugh. “I feel sorry for any human unlucky enough to be tied to you.”

“I do too,” Wonwoo sighs. His indifference - and sometimes hatred - towards humans is well known in the vampire circles Wonwoo is a part of. He’s generally cold, unfeeling, a true vampire, the way his master made him. In fact, out of all twelve of Wonwoo’s broodmates, he’s likely the most successful by Sung’s measurements. He’d surely been the most strategically blood thirsty, and it had cost their former master his life. 

“You won’t be able to kill her,” Jeonghan warns. “Won’t be able to run away. If you’ve tasted her blood, if you’ve felt your heart, it’s only a matter of time until you give in again.”

Wonwoo hates that this is true. You’ve been on his mind the entire time he’s been away from you, and it’s already driving him insane. He’s not used to thinking about another being for long periods of time, least of all a filthy little human who fancies herself a vampire hunter.

“You’ll end up turning her,” Jeonghan concludes. “It’s the only way. Humans are fragile, and I know how much you hate to see weakness.”

You’ve been trying to find a way out of the bedroom for ages. There are no clocks, nothing to tell you what time it is, but you know dawn is coming, you can see it through the large windows that make up an entire wall of the room.

There’s safety in sunshine, and you’re extremely hopeful that it comes before Wonwoo does.

But your luck is not your own today, as you hear something outside the door just as the morning rays begin to creep through the glass. 

You make your way to the windows, pressing your body against them and waiting for the vampire to return. He takes his sweet time, and for that, you’re grateful. The room is half illuminated by the time Wonwoo opens the door, and he peers inside at you.

“What are you doing?” he asks, studying your seated form, back to the glass and morning sun.

“Protecting myself,” you fire back.

Wonwoo lets out a laugh, looking down where the sun reaches on the floor. Then, he steps into it. “Do you really think I’d have a room without tinted glass? The sunlight can’t touch me here. This is my safe haven, not yours.” 

Fuck.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do with me?” you ask, feeling defeated.

“I’ll let you know when I do,” Wonwoo responds smoothly, walking over to the closet. 

He’s left the door wide open, and you eye it, wondering if you can make your escape.

“Don’t even think about it,” the vampire warns. “You won’t get far. I’ve installed an extra lock on my front door too, so even if you make it there, you have no way out.”

“How many people have you killed here?”

“None.” Wonwoo is looking through his clothing casually, back to you. You’re not sure if you can believe him. “Go on, check the doors.”

You dart from the room, quickly getting your bearings in the small but luxurious apartment. When you make it to the front door, you find he’s not lying. There’s an extra deadbolt on it, and try as you might, you can’t get it open.

You move to the kitchen next, looking for knives of any kind- but there’s literally nothing to be found in any of the cabinets. You suppose a vampire has no use for utensils or food- 

Instead, you unplug a lamp, picking it up to use as a bludgeoning weapon if the need arises. You stare toward Wonwoo’s bedroom, and he crosses your line of sight. He’s shirtless now, a pair of sweatpants low on his hips.

The sight is gone far too soon, and you wait, frozen with your lamp. 

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t come out of his room.

After a few minutes, you go to peek inside. The vampire is laying in his bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to sleep,” he muses almost lazily. “It’s been a long night.”

You’d heard rumours about vampires needing sleep, but you hadn’t actually believed the tales. 

“What am I supposed to do now?” you ask.

“Get comfortable,” Wonwoo sighs. “You’re not going anywhere.” He opens his eyes when you stay standing in his doorway. “Put the lamp down.”

“No.”

The vampire lets out a laugh. “Suit yourself.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep,” you warn him.

“No you won’t.” Wonwoo rolls onto his side, facing away from you. The covers are around his hips, and you get a good view of his excessively broad shoulders. His skin is perfect, not a blemish in sight, only muscles for days.

You lower the lamp a little. 

This man is crazy. Absolutely batshit insane. 

You watch the vampire as he drifts to sleep, and as soon as you feel you’ve waited a substantial amount of time, you begin to tiptoe to his closet. Your blade has to be somewhere.

You’re hyper aware of the fact that at any moment, Wonwoo could wake up. You keep your noise level to a minimum, rifling through his things. Finally, after what feels like forever, you feel the tip of your blade under your fingers as you look through a folded pile of hoodies. 

The twisted knife pulls out from the fabric and you have to fight the urge to cry out in happiness. When you look over your shoulder, you find the vampire still asleep. He’s on his back now, and it would be the perfect opportunity to stake him.

You’re aware that if you kill him, it will be much harder to leave the apartment, but you’re confident that if you bang on the front door long and loudly enough, someone will come save you. 

You begin to tiptoe toward the bed, adjusting your grip on the knife. 

If there’s one thing you can say about vampires in general, it’s that they’re beautiful. Wonwoo looks absolutely angelic, even while asleep. You falter at the edge of the mattress, simply watching him. If he hadn’t nearly killed you last night, you might hesitate longer, but the memory brings your drive back, and you hold the blade over his chest.

But your hands can’t bring it down. You can’t pierce his skin the way he’d pierced your neck just hours ago.

Come on, you think to yourself. Just stake him. 

Wonwoo’s eyes open, and he simply stares at you for a moment. Then he grabs your hand, disarming the blade and tugging you roughly, sending you toppling onto the mattress next to him. 

“Fuck!” you scream, kicking and trashing against the vice grip he has on your wrist.

Wonwoo lets you go. “I would have been disappointed if you didn’t try.”

“I hate you!” you yell, sitting up only to be tugged back down again.

“No, you don’t.” Wonwoo straddles you this time, grabbing both your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand while the other continues to hold your family blade. 

“I do!”

“I killed the vampire you were hunting, something you would have never been able to do. Some part of you must be grateful for that at least,” Wonwoo points out. “I’ve saved you from becoming a killer. Trust me, it’s not a weight you’d be able to hold easily.”

His words make your skin cold, and you stop wiggling beneath him, staring up at the beautiful vampire.

“There we go,” Wonwoo says, tone almost soothing. “If you’re good and calm, I’ll give you some information. Although, you won’t like what you’re about to hear.”

“Have you decided to kill me yet?” 

Wonwoo quickly shakes his head, releasing your wrists so he can sit straighter, staring down at your form. “I’m not really sure how to tell you this.”

“Just spit it out!”

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you?” Wonwoo grins, tracing the tip of the blade across your collar bone and making you freeze. You’re breathing heavily, fighting every urge to try to push him off of you. “Fine, maybe I won’t tell you.”

He gets off of you, rolling onto his back again. He begins to play with the knife, gently tracing one of its edges.

“Tell me,” you press. “I’m being good.” 

Wonwoo laughs, and you hate how attracted you are to him when he smiles, his fangs all pointy and sharp. 

“Fate is like this blade,” he says finally.

“A killer?” you suggest after a moment of deliberation.

“Twisted,” Wonwoo corrects you. 

“Twisted how?”

“Sung. He ruined my life. Ruined yours. I killed him, thinking I knew everything there was to know, but there was still information he could have given me. Information that died with him, like the vampire hunter legacy that died with your parents. Now here we are, two remnants of the same past, our souls scarred, but entwined, twisted by fate.”

You’d definitely not pegged this vampire as a poet, but there’s something very genuine about the words leaving his pretty lips.

“What do you know of souls?” you ask, words dripping with vitriol. “You don’t have one.”

“It would appear I do,” Wonwoo muses. 

“Then what do you know about mine?” 

“Enough.” 

He’s told you something without telling you anything, and it’s infuriating.

“When I bit you, I felt something,” Wonwoo says quietly.

“Besides hunger?”

He grins at your sarcasm. “Yes, besides hunger.”

Wonwoo drags his finger across the blade again, but this time, it cuts him. You watch dark red blood bloom, and after a moment he brings it to his lips, licking it clean. By the time he pulls his hand away, you see the small cut has healed.

“When I bit you, my chest hurt.”

“What does that mean?” 

“I wasn’t sure at the time,” he admits. “But I know someone who’d felt something similar, so I went to talk to him. Do you want to know what he said?”

The anticipation is nearly killing you. “Yes.” 

“He revealed to me that amidst a world of vampires, witches and werewolves, there’s also such a thing as soulmates. And so, like this blade, fate is twisted.” 

You stare at the vampire, trying to process what he’s just said. 

But it doesn’t make sense to you.

“You can’t be saying that we’re soulmates-”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Wonwoo shifts, holding the blade out to you. “Here, try to stake me again.”

After a moment of deliberation, you take the knife, lining it up with his throat. But try as you might, you can’t bring yourself to kill him, can’t even cut a tiny scratch against his perfect skin.

“This doesn’t prove anything,” you say finally, feeling completely defeated.

“Sure it doesn’t,” Wonwoo grins, but his smile tells you another story. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to sleep. You’re free to join me if you want.”

You take the knife away from his neck, releasing a loud sigh. “Just don’t bite me.”

“No promises.” Wonwoo rolls on his side again, back to you. 

You hate how calm he’s being about all of this, but you suppose that’s what happens when you’re the one holding all the cards. 

You can’t hurt him, but you’re pretty sure he can still hurt you, if that bite from last night is anything to go on. 

It takes an hour of letting him rest before you finally place the knife on the floor, settling into the bed with a huff. Your mind is completely full, but you’re exhausted too. Sleep finds you soon thereafter. 

You wake up cold, and it only takes a moment for you to realize why. There’s a vampire attached to your back, his chest pressed tightly to your form, skin like ice. 

You want to pull away, but you can’t. You’re stuck, trapped in his tight embrace. 

There has to be a way out of this, not only his arms but his apartment too. You’ll find a way, there has to be a way- 

With a few deep breaths, you’re finally able to get control of yourself, and you begin to shift away from Wonwoo- only for his grip to tighten on your body. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, voice groggy as if he’s just woken up.

“I have to get out of here,” you insist.

Wonwoo releases his hold on you, and you dart out of bed, looking around at the dark of the room. It’s evening already? How long did you sleep? When you look outside, you see the sun has set, the sky a hazy purple. 

“People will look for me,” you say, trying to reassure yourself.

“What people? Your family is dead.” 

He’s such an asshole. He can’t possibly be your soulmate, he can’t be-

You turn to look at Wonwoo, only to find him standing right in front of you. He’s so large, his chest perfectly muscled- and he’s staring at your neck.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn, clapping both hands over your throat.

He laughs. “But I’m thirsty.”

“How very enticing,” you say sarcastically. 

“I’ve been thinking.”

“You have?” you act shocked, picking up your blade.

“Put that down,” he tells you. “I’ve been thinking about something my friend told me. He said I’d have to turn you eventually.”

“Now I’m definitely not putting this down!” You brandish the knife at him and it only makes his grin wider. 

“You’re cute,” the vampire muses. “I can’t let you leave here while you’re human. It’s a dangerous world out there. Turning you would give me… security.”

“I’d still run,” you insist.

“You wouldn’t be able to. Not if I told you that you can’t.”

“I’d still try-”

Wonwoo bats the blade out of your hand, grabbing your wrists to pin them to your front while he steps closer. “You’re not listening,” he tuts. “Fledgelings can’t disobey their masters, and if I turned you-”

“You’ll never be my master,” you spit. 

“You might not like me now, but you’ll get over it,” Wonwoo assures you. “I can’t say I’m particularly fond of the fragility of your human body. I can turn you and you’ll be much more powerful. You’ll stay beautiful and young, forever.”

Blood is thrumming through your body, and so is fear. Your pulse is practically racing as you stare up at the vampire who thinks you’re his soulmate. 

How can he be so sure of this?

In the dark recesses of your mind, there’s some pleasure in being wanted, maybe even needed- but you push the thought away, struggling in his grasp. “Don’t do this.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, he simply steps closer, causing you to move back until you’re pressed between him and the wall. He stares down at you, an intensity in his eyes. 

“I’m going to ask you something, and I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying, so be a good girl and try to be honest, okay?” 

“Screw you!”

He places both your wrists in one hand, bringing the other up to cup your cheek. “Would you hate me if I kissed you?”

“Yes!” 

“Lie,” he grins, leaning even closer. “Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you.”

“I don’t want you to kiss me.”

“Another lie. Your heart jumped just now. Whether you want to admit it to yourself or not, your body always tells the truth.” 

You’re speechless, staring up at him with wide eyes.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” the vampire warns you. “It will be better if you try to enjoy yourself.” 

He gives you a moment to respond, but you can’t. There’s nothing you can say as Wonwoo closes the distance between your lips. It’s a soft kiss, much softer than you’d ever expected from him. Your body reacts, eyes closing, and you find yourself kissing him back.

Wonwoo grins, releasing your wrists in favour of grabbing your hip, pressing you harder against the wall. His tongue glides against your bottom lip and you can’t help but open your mouth for him, fighting the moan that bubbles in your chest. 

There’s something about this that feels electric, and after a mini battle with yourself, you give into the experience. Your hands grab at his strong shoulders, nails digging into his flesh as you kiss him back with more vigour, opening your mouth for him.

Wonwoo lets out a growl, deep in his chest, and the sound turns you on more than you’ll ever admit. His hand is bruising on your hip now, groping at your skin and slipping under your shirt. You shift in his embrace, pulling him closer when you wrap your arms around the back of his neck.

His hand on your cheek moves down, gently latching around your throat. The motion makes you gasp, and Wonwoo pulls away from your lips, staring down at you. “Thirsty.”

“You fucker-”

“Thirsty,” he repeats, pressing you against the wall and tightening his grip on your neck. You watch him drag his tongue across his sharp fangs. “Just say yes,” the vampire whispers. It almost sounds like he’s begging. 

You’re at war with yourself. Your body is clearly reacting to Wonwoo, but your mind still isn’t there yet. It’s almost torture, pressed to the wall by a man with a perfect body and power that practically thrums off of him.

You find yourself giving a small nod. “Don’t hurt me,” you plead.

“Never,” he promises, kissing you softly one last time before he arches your jaw to the side. You grab at his shoulders, ready to dig your nails in when you feel his fangs- 

His lips press to your throat and a shiver runs through your body. His tongue tastes your skin, drawing a circle that has you nearly dying with anticipation. When the bite finally comes, it’s not painful or sharp, it feels something like a hickey, and then it begins to throb.

A gasp tumbles out of you, and you cling to Wonwoo’s broad shoulders, closing your eyes. The vampire releases a groan, reaching for your hand so he can intertwine your fingers, squeezing gently. 

You’ve never felt close to someone like this, and the realization has your head spinning… or maybe that’s the blood loss. 

“Wonwoo-” you whimper, starting to worry at how long he’s been sucking on your throat.

The throbbing stops, and you feel his tongue gliding over the bite mark, an attempt to soothe your skin. Then he’s pulling away, looking down at you as he licks his lips clean of your blood.

“Good girl,” he praises you, letting go of your hand. “Your turn.” You watch as he brings his thumb to his mouth, biting the tip before grabbing your jaw, pressing the digit into your mouth. “This will heal the mark,” Wonwoo explains, watching as you begin to suck on his thumb.

He doesn’t taste like blood. Instead, you’re reminded of strawberries and stone fruits. You swirl your tongue around his digit, sucking him deeper into your mouth-

“That’s it,” the vampire groans, slowly pulling his thumb from you. He drags it across your lip. “All better.”

When you touch your throat, you find only perfect skin. There’s nothing to suggest you’ve just been bitten by a vampire. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Wonwoo leans down, his lips ghosting over your own, “you taste delicious.”

“You-” you swallow thickly, “you do too.”

“Yeah?” He grins. 

You can only nod, leaning forward eagerly to capture him in a kiss again. 

You’re hungry for him, hungry in a way you’ve never been before, hungry for more.

Wonwoo gives into your needs, working his lips against yours harder while his hands find your hips again. Your own fingers trace his broad shoulders, dipping down to tease over his chest before finding his abs-

“That’s enough for tonight,” Wonwoo says suddenly, pulling away.

You realize you’d been about to grab his sweat pants, and you feel slightly embarrassed. You’re not sure what’s come over you-

“Sorry-”

“As much as I’d love to give you everything you want, as a human, I’d break you much too easily, darling.” 

Is he… is he going to withhold sex unless you become a vampire?

Jesus, are you actually considering this now?

What has this man done to you?

“I’m going out,” Wonwoo announces.

“Where?”

“The club. You were a tasty treat, but I’ll need more soon.”

For some reason, the thought of him biting anyone else makes you almost jealous. “Take me with you.”

“To the vampire club?” Wonwoo laughs as he heads to his closet. “No.”

“Please?” 

“No.”

“Why not?” you ask.

“It’s too dangerous.”

“What if I stick to your side all night?” 

He turns to look at you, cocking a brow. “Not thinking of running anymore?”

You shake your head quickly.

“Shame, a lie,” Wonwoo sighs. “But I guess… anywhere you go, I’ll find you.” He reaches out, wrapping his hands around your throat and pulling you closer. “You’re mine. If you run, the consequence will be a turning, does that sound fair?”

You feel like you’re gambling with fate, but you nod all the same.

“Say it,” the vampire tells you. 

“If… If I run, you can turn me.”

Wonwoo studies you for a moment, then he releases your throat. “Fine. You can come to the club. We’ll get you food along the way if you promise to be good.”

Entering the club with Wonwoo is extremely different from entering alone. The bouncers seem to know the vampire with his hand firmly wrapped around your own, and although they give you odd looks, no one says anything.

The crowd parts for Wonwoo, and you feel eyes drilling into your form. 

It had taken months to track down this specific club, there are few vampire safe havens like this one, and people tend to keep their mouth shut about this sort of thing. Yet, within the location itself, everyone seems to know who’s vampire and who’s human. It’s an unspoken hierarchy, one you’re disturbing by being so close to Wonwoo while still owning a pulse.

Wonwoo leads you to the booth section you’d found him in last night. There are three vampires already sitting there, and they all stare as you approach. “Shouldn’t have brought you here,” Wonwoo sighs.

“Why not?”

“They’re never going to let me live this down,” he explains. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

It’s an interesting notion, the idea that you’re bringing down this asshole vampire’s street cred. But at the same time, you didn’t force him to bring you here. You’ll never be able to force Wonwoo to do anything.

The vampire with the longest hair stands up from the booth as you approach, and you’re shocked when he smiles at you. “This must be her,” he says, holding out a hand. When you take it, instead of shaking, the beautiful man leans down to kiss your knuckles. 

“This is Jeonghan,” Wonwoo tells you.

You give the vampire your own name, and when you hear Wonwoo whispering it behind you, you realize he’s yet to learn it. Had you really gone this long without introducing yourself to him properly? Had you let him bite you, and kiss you, and call you good girl, all without knowing your name?

“You’re the vampire hunter,” comes the next voice, and the tallest vampire you’ve ever seen stands to tower over you. “I thought you’d be dead by now.”

“Mingyu,” Wonwoo warns, his hand moving to the small of your back in an almost protective gesture.

“Vampire hunter?” The third man cocks his head. “I see you’ve brought us a pretty little juice box.”

“Joshua,” now it’s Jeonghan’s turn to scold someone, and you realize through the long haired vampire’s behaviour that he must be the friend Wonwoo went to see about soulmates. There’s definitely a softness to him that the others don’t have, an understanding.

“Is she not dinner?” Joshua simply blinks in confusion, unable to see what he’s done wrong.

“A fang bunny then, not dinner,” the final vampire suggests.

“Excuse Soonyoung and Joshua,” Jeonghan sighs, addressing you again, “looks don’t account for manners. How about I take you down to the bar for a drink and Wonwoo can explain to our friends what’s going on,” he leans closer, lowering his voice, “Wonwoo’s never brought a girl home, I’m sure you can understand the surprise.”

You’d promised Wonwoo you’d stay by his side all night, and you can’t help but look at him for permission to leave with Jeonghan. Your vampire mate meets your gaze with a steady look, and he gives you a quick nod before turning to his friends again.

Jeonghan takes your hand, pulling you away from the table and back toward the bar. “You two look good together,” he muses. “Fragility looks nice next to Wonwoo’s controlled chaos, it’s a good balance.”

“What’s with you vampires and hating human fragility?” you ask.

“I can’t speak for all vampires, but I can tell you it’s a trait of our fledgling group. Our old master was… brutal, to say the least. It left its scars.” Jeonghan looks down, and you can see an unreadable emotion cross his face. But he’s forcing a smile a moment later. “It doesn’t matter, Sung is gone, we’re free now.”

So Wonwoo hadn’t only freed himself and you when he’d killed his maker. How many people had he saved? You’d seen the act as something of a bloodthirsty move of defiance, but you  hadn’t been aware of the domino effect of it all, hadn’t been aware that Sung had been cruel to humans and vampires alike, even his own spawn. 

The bartender comes over with two glasses of red wine, and you reach for yours, only to have Jeonghan’s cold fingers latch around your wrist. “Don’t drink that,” he warns you, eyes shifting to the human bartender. “She’s not a red wine lover.”

“I can drink this-”

Jeonghan leans closer, voice lowering. “It’s blood, darling.”

Your eyes dip to the glass of red liquid and you pull your hand away, swallowing thickly. Something tells you this blood wouldn’t taste like Wonwoo’s had, there’d be no strawberries and stone fruit, only harsh metalics. 

“What would you like to drink?” Jeonghan asks.

You give your order and the bartender scurries away. Jeonghan moves both glasses of blood in front of himself, lifting one to his lips. 

“Stupid humans,” he mutters, only realizing his mistake a moment later. “Not you of course, as Wonwoo’s soulmate, you’re an extension of us.”

It’s very odd to be accepted like this. You’ve never met any vampires like these ones, and they’re reshaping your view of things that go bump in the night.

Your gaze moves back to the table of vampires, and you’re shocked to find Wonwoo standing with a new person you’ve not yet met. They’re comparable in size, and from your distance, it almost looks like they’re arguing. Then you see Wonwoo motion, pointing toward the hallway that leads to the alley he’d taken you last night.

“Jeonghan?” You tap on the man’s arm. “Who’s that with Wonwoo?”

“Shit,” Jeonghan cusses. “He’s bad news.”

And here you’d thought Wonwoo was bad news, can this new man be even worse?

You watch the two heated vampires begin to head through the crowd, clearly intent on taking this outside. Mingyu, Joshua and Soonyoung watch from the booth, but they don’t make a move to follow. 

“Does- does Wonwoo need backup?” you ask.

Jeonghan considers it for a moment. “Doubtful. He’d probably be mad if we went out after him.”

As you watch Wonwoo disappear, your heart clenches in your chest. “I think we should follow.”

“He’s fine,” Jeonghan assures you.

“I don’t care.”

“Wonwoo wouldn’t want you there,” the vampire tries to convince you. “You’re fragile, human, it would only make things worse.”

“Screw that.”

“Your drink isn’t even here yet-”

But you’re already moving away from the bar, and Jeonghan scrambles to follow you, grabbing both glasses of wine. “This is a bad idea,” he insists, but you’re done listening to him. “Wonwoo can take care of himself.”

To be fair, that might be true. However, there’s a pull, deep in your chest. Something tells you Wonwoo will need you soon, although you’re not quite sure in what capacity. 

Your pace quickens as you head down the dark hallway, and you push open the exit door, quickly looking around. 

Wonwoo has the other vampire pressed to the brick wall behind the bar, and they’re grappling at each other, practically snarling. You have no clue who’s the aggressor, but you know who the winner will be, and you reach into your jacket for your blade.

“Wonwoo!” you scream, catching his attention for a moment, but it’s all you need to toss the weapon toward him. He catches it easily, driving the stake into the other man without a second thought.

A choked sound leaves you, and a hand covers your eyes. Jeonghan presses against your back, cradling you while you hear the sounds of your vampire mate eviscerating his opponent. 

Jeonghan turns you in his arms. “Don’t look,” he urges, removing his palm from your view. He’s still holding a wine glass, and you see the other sitting on the garbage can a few feet away. The sight of the blood makes your stomach churn. You try to take deep breaths to calm yourself, but it’s difficult in a situation like this.

Something moves in the periphery of your vision and you turn your head to see Wonwoo standing there, reaching for the wine glass. His skin is marred with red, his hair a tangle of curls. Your mate’s eyes are dark, and he closes them as he downs the red liquid, tossing the glass to the side when he’s through with it. The cup shatters across the alleyway. 

“Wonwoo-” you breathe, reaching for him, needing to check if he’s hurt.

“Why did you two come out here?” he asks, staring at Jeonghan.

“She insisted.”

Oh, to be thrown under the bus by a vampire.

Wonwoo cracks a grin, gaze shifting to you. “Brat.” 

“Killer,” you retort.

“He deserved it,” Wonwoo assures you, reaching out to grab you by the back of the neck, pulling you closer. 

He’s covered in blood and he looks like a sexy, wild monster. But he’s your monster, and you can’t help but react, leaning in-

“Jesus Christ,” you hear Jeonghan breathe, turning to give you and Wonwoo privacy while he presses his lips against yours hungrily.

At first, you can try to ignore the wet liquid on your fingertips as you grab at his strong shoulders, but you can’t ignore the taste on his tongue. Your body goes rigid and Wonwoo pulls back with a sigh, resting his forehead against yours. 

It’s an oddly peaceful moment amongst the chaos.

Wonwoo lets you go, turning to his friend. “Help me with the body,” he instructs.

“The club owner isn’t going to like this,” Jeonghan groans, although he does as he’s told, following Wonwoo toward the body crumpled by the wall.

The vampire has been practically torn to pieces- you shift your gaze again, wiping at your mouth just in case there’s any blood on your skin.

“I’ll explain what happened,” Wonwoo says. 

“Explain it to me then.”

You focus on the ground, not wanting to look as you hear the two vampires open a large dumpster. 

Wonwoo has lowered his voice to respond to his friend, but you hear the words soulmate and threatened. 

Had this killing been over you? The thought makes your stomach tie into knots again.

“You can’t bring her here again, not while she’s still human,” Jeonghan muses.

“You think I don’t know that?” Wonwoo snaps. “I didn’t even want to bring her today!”

“Then why did you?”

“It’s hard to say no to her, something you should understand. Can’t believe you let her come out here-”

“I didn’t let her do anything,” Jeonghan insists. “That soulmate of yours has a mind of her own. Besides, my hands were full.”

Your eyes shift to the glass of wine still sitting on a small trash can, and you move to retrieve it. 

“You’ll get this properly cleaned up, won’t you?” Wonwoo asks.

“Yeah, I got you,” Jeonghan sighs. “But you owe me one.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” 

You hear them walking over again, and you turn to face the approaching vampires, holding out the ‘wine’ for Jeonghan.

“Thank you, darling,” he offers you a smile, taking the glass. 

You can only nod, gaze shifting to Wonwoo, who still looks gorgeous even while covered in blood. 

He takes your hand gently. “Come on, brat, let’s get out of here.”

Mingyu had come around with his car to take you home, helping avoid any uber drivers who would take one look at Wonwoo’s blood-speckled face and driven the other way. It had been a tense ten minutes, with hardly a word spoken.

Now, you’re in Wonwoo’s bathroom, helping him take off his shirt so you can wash him clean.

He watches as you ring out a warm soapy cloth, bunching it up and bringing it toward his shoulders first. It’s hard to focus with his intense gaze fixed on you, but you do your best, wiping away the blood from his throat.

“I have to turn you,” he says.

You sigh. “I know.”

“Are you upset with me?”

You shake your head, daring a look into his dark eyes. 

The vampire cocks his head, hands finding your hips while he leans back against the sink. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises. “One bite, I’ll nearly drain you, and on the cusp between life or death, I’ll give you my own blood. You’ll probably pass out, for a little while, and when you wake up, you’ll be like me.”

“Except you’ll be my master,” you point out, drawing the cloth across his bloody cheekbone. 

“I won’t abuse that power.”

For some reason, you believe him.

Silence fills the bathroom while you continue to clean him, but your mind is very much active. 

You’ve spent over ten years with one goal and one goal only, to avenge your parents. You’d been told it was a fool's errand, so you’d never quite planned for what came next. Part of you had always expected to die young- and if you’d been at the house instead of with a friend the day Sung had come for your family, you would have. 

The idea of living forever is a lot to grapple with, but Wonwoo’s the one that makes it possible.

He’d completed your life task, and now, he’s offering you a new path, one that’s rich with shadows, but also love. In a way, maybe you can’t ask for anything more than that.

“Do you think it will satisfy you?” you question. “Having me when you know I can’t refuse you?”

Wonwoo considers you for a moment, and his silence makes you anxious.

“I just mean…” you bite at your lip, cleaning the last speckle of blood from his skin before tossing the cloth down. “Wouldn’t it be better to have me for the first time while I’m still human? When you know I’m saying yes out of my own free will?”

“Darling,” his fingers dig into your hips, “are you asking me to fuck you?”

“I’m just- I know I want you, I think that much is obvious. I just think that if I wait to have you until after I’m a vampire, maybe there will always be a part of me that questions it. I want to experience you now, as I am, as a human.”

“It’s an interesting proposition,” Wonwoo admits.

“Just interesting?” you tease, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders.

Wonwoo straightens. No longer leaning against the sink, he towers over you again, and it takes your anxieties away. 

“Is this really what you want?” he asks.

You take a deep breath and nod. 

“I’ll be as gentle as I know how,” he reaches out, brushing his fingers along your arm, “but I can’t make any promises.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, tongue darting out to wet your lips. “I like rough.”

“Are you sure about that, pretty girl?” Wonwoo grins, grabbing your hips and tugging you closer. 

It feels amazing to be pressed against him now, your palms coming to rest on his broad chest. He’s so beautiful, you can hardly control yourself around him anymore. 

“I want you to ravage me,” you tell him. “And when we both finish, you can turn me. I think… I think I’m ready for my life with you. There’s nothing for me with the old one anyways, not anymore.” 

The vampire studies you, and you avert your gaze, only for his fingers to find the bottom of your chin. He tilts your head up so you’re forced to meet his eyes. “I’m going to take care of you,” Wonwoo whispers, and then he leans in to press his lips against yours.

You melt against his chest, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. Your mouth parts much too easily for Wonwoo, and he drags his tongue along yours, earning a sigh of relief from deep within you. Your brain has been so full since seeing Wonwoo eviscerate that rival vampire, it’s good to be in your body now, mind going numb from your soulmate’s touch.

In one easy motion, Wonwoo turns you so you’re the one with your back to the sink. He bends down, tearing your pants off before grabbing your thighs and lifting you onto the counter, slotting between your legs while he kisses you harder. 

His hands find your shirt, and you break the kiss to tear it off, leaving you in your underwear. Wonwoo’s lips find your neck, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, groaning. You throw your head back, wrapping your legs tighter around his hips. “Bite me,” you urge him, missing the sensation.

The vampire grins against your throat, and you feel his fangs a moment later. He doesn’t tease you with kisses or licking this time, he simply sinks his teeth into you. The throbbing feeling courses through you and you gasp, digging your nails into his shoulders while Wonwoo drinks from you. 

You’ve never felt close to someone like this before. Wonwoo is grabbing your hips hard, leaning closer while he uses you for his own strength. He presses forward, allowing you to feel his cock growing in his jeans, denim catching against your panties. Then his hands slip behind you, and he undoes your bra, tearing it off. 

Your nipples pebble in the cool of the bathroom, and Wonwoo’s cold hands don’t help any as they move up to cup your breasts. Your soulmate pulls away from your throat, releasing a groan.

Warm blood begins to drip down your skin, he’d bitten you harder than last time. As the track of red makes it to your nipple, Wonwoo bends down, capturing the sensitive bud in his mouth and licking roughly. 

You whimper at the sensation, tangling your fingers in his hair as he drags his tongue up, collecting all the blood that’s just spilt from your neck. The vampire groans when he makes it to your bite mark, and he adjusts slightly, biting his thumb before pressing it into your mouth. “Need you healed or I might lose control,” he says, voice husky.

You can only suck in his digit, closing your eyes and enjoying the tingly feeling of your wound disappearing. 

Your soulmate pulls his hand from your mouth, bringing his newly spit-covered fingers to your panty-clad core. He applies a good amount of pressure to your clit and you cry out, grabbing at his jaw to bring his lips back to yours.

The vampire rubs you teasingly, working you up until you’re practically rutting against his hand. “Please,” you moan, feeling absolutely desperate now.

Wonwoo rewards you by pushing your panties to the side, sinking two fingers into your hot core while you groan into each other’s mouths. 

“Already so wet for me,” Wonwoo muses. “Is this how you always react to vampires, darling?”

You shake your head, whimpering as he strokes your inner walls expertly. “Just you,” you tell him.

Wonwoo lets out a growl. With his free hand he grabs your wrist, bringing your palm to his chest. “Can you feel what you’re doing to me?”

At first, you’re confused, but then you feel something, a rough thumping, as if his heart is clawing to get out of his ribcage. “I’m doing this to you?” you ask in wonder.

“And this,” he guides your hand down further, so you can feel how hard he is in his jeans now. 

“Fuck, you’re big-”

Wonwoo laughs, working his fingers into you even harder. “Think you’ll be able to make it fit?”

“Uh huh,” you nod eagerly. “We’ll make it fit.” 

His digits crook up, stroking a spot that has your thighs quivering around his hips. You squeeze his cock through his jeans, hoping to drive Wonwoo even a fraction as wild as he’s driving you.

Your soulmate lets out a satisfied groan, and the sound goes straight to your core, which squelches around his fingers. “I’m close,” you warn him, nearly panting now as the orgasm builds in the pit of your stomach.

“Yeah?” Wonwoo grinds his palm against your clit and you’re nearly seeing stars. 

You let go of his cock, needing to anchor yourself on his strong shoulders as he leans in to kiss your throat. He focuses on the spot he’d bitten, and even though it’s healed, you’re still sensitive there, sending throbbing tingles through your form.

“Fuck, Wonwoo-” You clench your eyes shut as you reach your high, your entire being now consumed with pleasure. You’ve never felt anything like this. It’s almost an out of body experience, your cries leaving your lips as you dig your nails into his shoulders, throbbing ceaselessly with ecstasy. 

“That’s it, pet,” Wonwoo coos, fingers continuing to abuse your hole even as your walls contract around him. “Who’s my good little human?”

“Me,” you whimper, threading your hand through his hair so you can keep him to your throat. You almost want to ask him to bite you again, but you hold yourself back, enjoying the last moments of your orgasm.

You finish with a gasp, breathing hard. 

Wonwoo takes his hand from your core, pulling away from your neck. He watches you with dark eyes as he brings his fingers to his lips, licking them clean. The vampire lets out a groan. “Everything about you tastes so fucking sweet, darling.”

God. You need him like you’ve never needed anyone in your whole life.

“Please,” you moan.

“Please, what?” he teases.

“Take me,” you whisper. “Make me yours.”

“Darling,” Wonwoo leans closer, his lips ghosting over your own, “I thought you’d never ask.”

He pulls you off the sink, tucking you close to his chest and carrying you back to the bedroom. The lights are off, and when he gently places you on the bed, his beautiful frame is illuminated from the glow of the bathroom. 

You can’t see his face, but you can see he’s smiling, and his fangs flash. His hands move to his belt and he undoes it. You bite at your lip, sitting up onto your elbows while you watch him. 

He pushes his pants down, and you can just make out the impressive size of his cock. “Wish I could see you,” you muse.

“I can see you,” he retorts. “When I turn you, you’ll be able to see in the dark too.”

“Are you really going to make me wait?”

“You won’t have to wait long,” Wonwoo reminds you. “You can be patient for this first time, can’t you, human? After tonight, we’ll have forever.”

You can’t even imagine what forever entails, and you distract yourself from it by pulling your panties down, tossing them to the floor. You spread your legs for the vampire at the foot of the bed and he releases a groan.

“You are beautiful,” he admits.

“Even for a human?”

“Even for a vampire hunter,” Wonwoo presses a knee to the bed.

“Thought you said I was a sorry excuse for a vampire hunter.” 

“I may have said something along those lines,” he grins.

“A vampire hunter with no kills under her belt-”

Wonwoo presses his hand to the bed next to your head, leaning over you while you wrap your legs around his hips. “Are you looking for an apology, darling?”

“It would help,” you sigh, enjoying the way he ruts his cock against your hot core.

“I’m sorry I called you a filthy little human who fancies herself a vampire hunter,” Wonwoo smirks, “I was having a bad day, and I misspoke… you’re a darling little human who’s about to become a vampire fucker.”

“Wonwoo-” you push at his chest, hating how harsh his words sound.

“You’re right,” your soulmate concedes, “you’re not a vampire fucker, I’m the one on top.”

“You’re horrible!” you screech, but at the same time, you’re giggling now.

“Tell me you love it,” he insists, leaning in to press his lips to your neck. “Tell me you don’t want me to fuck you stupid. That you don’t want me to sink my fangs into this pretty throat and make you mine, my eternal mate, untouchable to anyone but me.”

It does sound nice, and you shiver as Wonwoo presses his cold body down against yours.

“I’ll enjoy it once you’re turned,” Wonwoo breathes. “You won’t be able to be bratty with me. I’ll ask you what's on your mind and you’ll have to answer.”

“I’m just thinking how nice this is going to be,” you admit.

“Nice?” He laughs, pulling away to look down at you. 

“Obviously it will be a lot to figure out,” you back pedal slightly, “but… I don’t know, you really are my soulmate, and I know you’ll take care of me.”

The vampire simply blinks. 

“What?” you ask, cupping his face.

“This is the first time you’ve admitted it,” Wonwoo points out. 

“I wouldn’t let you bite me if you weren’t,” you remind him. “Wouldn’t let you fuck me-”

“I haven’t fucked you yet,” your soulmate grins, pushing his hips so his cock brushes by your clit as if to prove his point.

“And I’m devastated,” you say dramatically. “Please, Wonwoo- just fuck me!”

Wonwoo presses his lips to yours, and you love that he’s smiling into the kiss. You tangle your fingers in his hair, hooking your legs tighter around his hips. You’re still so wet from his fingers, and each small drag of his cock between your pussy lips feels like heaven. 

He’s such a tease, but you kind of love it.

The vampire adjusts slightly, reaching between your bodies, and then his cock slides into you. It’s just the head at first, but it’s enough to have you gasping and clawing at him. He thrusts shallowly, pushing deeper and deeper until his hips are flush to your own and every impressive inch of him is stretching you open.

“Fuck-” you whimper, toes curling from how full you feel.

Wonwoo collects one of your hands, linking your fingers and pressing it down against the pillow. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, my pretty human?”

“Uh huh,” you nod, swallowing thickly. “I told you,” you lean up, letting your lips ghost past his while you stare into his eyes, “ravage me.”

Your vampire lover groans, smashing his mouth to yours and squeezing your hand, then he begins to thrust into you and your mind goes completely blank. He fills you up perfectly- it’s like you were always meant to be full in this way. 

Now that you’ve tasted this, how can you ever get enough?

You can tell he’s holding back, can tell he’s still trying to be careful with your fragile form. You lock your legs tighter around his hips, a wordless encouragement to go harder. You wonder what it’s going to be like once you’re on his level, once you’re a vampire like him. If sex with him feels this good and he’s only at a fraction of his power, you bet undying fucking will kill you all over again.

Each snap of his hips presses his cock deep into your core, and your walls greedily eat him up. You’re moaning desperately against his mouth, squeezing his hand while tangling your fingers through his hair with the other. 

Wonwoo’s fangs drag by your lip, teasing you just enough to be on the verge of painful. 

You’re so lost in him you don’t even care, you bite him back, tugging on his curls and whimpering a sound of affirmation. This time, when his teeth make contact with your lip, it’s with enough force to pierce. 

Wonwoo groans immediately, suckling on your lower lip. It’s throbbing slightly, but unlike when he goes for your neck, his teeth aren’t still inside of you. He’s simply made a small incision, and now your vampire lover is making the most of it, kissing you so greedily that you can’t even taste the metallic proof of what he’s just done.

He simply can’t get enough of you, and you can’t get enough of him. You push on the hand capturing yours to the bed and Wonwoo relents, allowing you to grab at his shoulder while he fucks you harder, pressing you into the mattress.

With his fingers now free, he shoves them between your bodies, rubbing your clit and making your legs shake around his hips. 

With each lick and suck at your bleeding lip, he’s getting rougher with you. Your life’s blood is giving him strength, making him more feral, and you’re enjoying the show. 

Your pussy is throbbing again, just like your lip, and you know you’re achingly close to another orgasm. When has cumming ever been this easy? Wonwoo feels like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare, you’re still not sure.

“Close, darling?” Wonwoo asks, dragging his tongue across your teeth. You taste something on him, and realize he’s bitten himself, allowing his blood to heal your lip wound just as suddenly as it had been given. 

You nod, crying out as he rubs your clit harder. He stares down at you, in the dark there are angular shadows on his face, his pretty cheekbones all sharp-

“You look…” he licks his lips, “beautiful.”

“Wonwoo-” you whimper, body shuddering at the praise, your core twisting and aching as he continues to fuck into you wildly.

“That’s it,” the vampire coos, “cum on my cock, I need to feel you.”

You literally can’t help yourself. His voice is too sexy, his cock is too big, and you’re way too deep into the kinkiness of bloodsharing vampire sex to refuse any command he gives you. You let out a cry of ecstasy as your second orgasm of the night slams into you, ravaging your form and making you see stars.

Wonwoo buries his face against your neck, teasing you with his teeth and tounge while he fucks you through his high. With each second of overstimulated pleasure, you hang on the edge of anticipation, wondering if he’s about to bite you-

But he doesn’t. He simply works you through your orgasm until you’re a shaking mess.

You can feel tears in your eyes, but you’re not quite sure why they’re there.

When Wonwoo looks down at you again, he notices your tears, his brows furrowing. But he doesn’t question you on it, he simply brushes them away with his thumb while you shiver and recollect yourself after that mind numbing high.

You drag his face in for a kiss, pouring all your emotions into the merging of your lips. It must be clear to him that you’re okay, that you’re feeling just a little broken right now- but to be fair, you had asked him to ravage you.

There are underlying feelings being brought up, and in the periphery of your mind, you’re questioning your own mortality.

This is your last night on earth as a human, your last hour even- and although you know Wonwoo will take care of you, there’s something scary about it.

You’re diving into the deep, dark, unknown with your new soulmate, entrusting him as your guide after living an entire life without trusting anyone.

Trusting feels foreign to you, but you do trust Wonwoo, and that’s a scary thought in and of itself.

“Okay,” you say, swallowing thickly and letting out a shaky breath, “I’m ready for more.”

“I’d almost worried I’d broken you,” Wonwoo admits, pressing another soft kiss to your lips.

“It was a good broken,” you tell him, heart swelling in your chest at the fact that he’d been concerned for you. 

“And now my little human wants more,” Wonwoo muses. “You’re not as fragile as you look, are you, darling?”

You shake your head.

“Think you can get on your knees for me?” the vampire asks, pushing his body weight off of you.

“Uh huh,” you nod, whimpering a little at the loss of his cock from your core. You get into position, turning your back to him and adjusting on your knees, wiggling you ass gently to entice him.

“Pretty human,” Wonwoo breathes, hands ghosting down your sides before taking two fistfuls of your bum and squeezing. 

You feel his cock at your entrance again, and he pushes into you, making you both moan. In this position it almost feels like he hits deeper. You go fully doggy, resting your face against his pillows and arching your back.

“I’d tell you to be good for me, but I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked the brat out of you already. Isn’t that right, darling?” He lands a gentle smack to your ass that has you whimpering. 

He’s such a cocky asshole and it makes you groan. You can feel yourself throb around him at his words, betraying what you really think about the line he’s just used on you.

“That’s what I thought.” You can practically hear him grinning, and his hands move to your waist. His touch is almost bruising, but it feels so good as he begins to thrust into you again. Each movement has his hips hitting your ass, and the sound of sex fills the room.

You love the noises he’s making, soft, breathy groans, and deep rumbles that border on growls. There’s no time for talking anymore, your mind is much more preoccupied in the pleasure building within you both.

You’re still sensitive from two orgasms, so when you slip your hand under your body to rub your clit, your pussy immediately reacts. You clench tightly around Wonwoo, who lets out a moan at the sensation, fucking you even harder and faster.

Each thrust has you crying out now, whines of desperation slipping out of you while you rub your clit, eyes shut. 

Suddenly, Wonwoo is wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, pulling you up onto your knees with your back to his chest. His lips ghost by your ear. “So eager to cum again?” he asks.

You can only nod, grabbing at the forearm now pinned against your front while Wonwoo’s other hand tightens around your neck. He’s buried deep inside of you now, unmoving, and you’ve never felt this full.

“You know what happens when you cum, don’t you, darling?” 

“I-” You’re so delirious from his cock you can’t even think.

“‘When we cum, you can turn me,’ that’s what you said, wasn’t it, pet?” Wonwoo lets out a chuckle. “Are you really that eager? Or just a little dim with my cock buried so deep in this perfect pussy of yours?”

“I remember,” you gasp, head beginning to swim with how hard he’s gripping your throat.

“So you are eager,” the vampire confirms. “That’s cute.” 

He lets go of you, pushing you down to the bed. His hand finds the back of your neck and he holds your face down, grabbing your hip with the other. “I guess you can cum as fast as you want, little pet. I’d be happy to taste you again.”

You’re gasping against the pillow, enjoying how rough he’s being with you now. There’s something about having his hand on your neck, keeping you down while he begins to fuck into you again. 

“Are you close?” you ask, enjoying the groans leaving his own lips.

Wonwoo laughs. “When you cum, I cum.”

“Lucky me,” you whisper, reaching for your clit again. Your pussy pulses with ecstasy as you begin to rub the sensitive nub, your eyes closing from the pleasure. 

“Naughty human,” Wonwoo states, but there’s something like pride in his tone. “I guess I haven’t fucked the brat out of you just yet.”

“You love that I’m a brat,” you insist. “It gives you something you want to control, and we both know how much you like control.”

Wonwoo’s thrusts falter ever so slightly. “I didn’t realize you knew me so well, little soulmate.”

“I do,” you groan. “Just like I know that if I start begging, you’ll really lose your head.”

Wonwoo lets out a laugh, and you see it as a challenge.

“Please,” you whimper, rubbing your clit harder and cutting off your soulmate’s laugh. “Please, Wonwoo, I’m so close-”

The vampire behind you lets out a growl, fucking you faster. His grip on your neck pushes you down against the bed more, but it does nothing to muffle the begging that’s beginning to tumble past your lips.

“Want you to fill me up. Want you to make me see stars. Want you to bite me like only you can-”

“Fuck-” Wonwoo groans.

Suddenly he’s letting go of your neck and flipping you over. You’re not on your back for even a moment before he’s pushing into your core again, his lips eager against your own. His tongue invades your mouth, shutting up your begging while you tangle your fingers through his hair.

One of his hands is planted on the pillow next to you, and the other is on your hip, digging into your skin while he fucks you so hard the bed shakes.

“Please,” you whimper, so close to the edge you can almost taste it again.

Wonwoo’s mouth moves to your throat and your entire body tenses with anticipation, teetering on the edge of pleasure that you know is going to be nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced before.

You drag your fingers against his scalp, panting hard. “Bite me,” you beg. “Bite me, please- I’ll cum so hard if you just bite me-”

The vampire lets out a primal groan, and then his teeth are sinking into your flesh. The throbbing sensation erupts through your entire body, going straight to your core, which clenches desperately around Wonwoo’s cock. 

A strangled cry leaves your lips as your orgasm overtakes you. Your grip tightens in Wonwoo’s hair, holding him to your throat as you ascend to a height of pleasure that has you weak all over- 

From the noises leaving your soulmate, you know he’s just cum too, and the thought makes your body tingle as he drinks steadily from your neck. 

His thrusts begin to slow, but the speed to which he’s devouring you remains a constant. Suddenly, you realize that there’s no coming back from cloud 9, you’re simply floating- floating, floating, with only his hair as your anchor, but soon, you begin to lose your grip on even that.

Your throat is really pulsing now, but it’s getting noticeably weaker, and the heat of the bite is dying down. Maybe it’s not the only thing dying, you realize, with your eyes closed and your lids too heavy to lift.

Something presses to your lips, filling your mouth with a familiar flavour. 

Strawberries and stone fruits.

You do your best to swallow, but it’s kind of difficult. You’re so tired, so very tired-

“Drink up, darling,” Wonwoo says. His voice feels far away. “Come back to me. I’m not done with you yet.”

Part of you wishes you could simply drift off, but your soulmate's words are enticing. You push yourself to do as he says, drinking the sweet nectar and regaining your strength, drawing you back to him. 

When you’re finally able to open your eyes, Wonwoo isn’t on top of you anymore. He’s laying in bed next to you, watching. 

You roll onto your side, mirroring him. “Did I pass out?”

“I warned you that might happen,” he reminds you, reaching out to push a strand of hair away from your face. 

His touch sends sparks through your body and you lick your lips, feeling pulled to the man in front of you. That’s when you realize, the lights are still off, but you can see Wonwoo perfectly. “I’m like you now,” you whisper.

“You’re like me,” Wonwoo agrees. “Do you have any regrets?”

“No,” you shake your head. “Do you?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Just one.”

“Yeah?” You shift closer, palms flattening against his cold chest. 

“After you passed out, I realized there’s one thing I never said to you while you were human, not in so many words, at least.” 

“It’s not like you’ve known me long,” you try to assure him.

“That doesn’t matter,” Wonwoo insists. “I still should have said it. Like you wanting to experience me while still human, I should have said it while you still had a heart that beats.”

“I hate to break it to you, mister vampire,” you grin, taking his hand and pressing it to your chest, “but my dead heart is beating for you the same way yours beats for me. Just say it now.”

Wonwoo takes his hand from your chest, reaching up to cup your cheek. “I love you, even though I thought I’d never love anyone. I thought I’d be alone forever, but now… here you are. And I… I love you.” 

You grin at your vampire mate, adoring how vulnerable he’s being with you. “I also thought I’d be alone forever,” you admit. “Thought I’d die young and bloody, which, I guess is kind of true, but you’ve given me something new, something I could have never imagined, and I can’t wait to explore this second life with you. I love you too, Wonwoo, as crazy as it sounds.”

Wonwoo grins, and you return the expression. His thumb moves up to drag past your teeth. “The fangs suit you, my love,” he muses.

The petname makes you smile wider, shifting closer and wrapping your leg around his hip, mounting the pretty vampire. “Hungry,” you whisper, leaning down to press your lips to his neck.

“We’ll have to go get you some food.”

“Not for that,” you laugh, licking his throat. “For you.”

“Are you sure you’re strong enough, darling?” Wonwoo asks. “You’ve just been turned, maybe you should rest-”

“I’ve got strength enough to have you again, that is… if you have the energy, my big, scary, vampire master.”

Now it’s his turn to moan at the new petname, even if it is said slightly in jest.

“Still a brat,” Wonwoo muses, fingers skimming down your sides. 

“You’ll be entertained forever,” you insist.

“And what if master tells you to be a good girl and keep your pretty mouth shut?”

You laugh. “Then you’d miss me after a minute and ask me to start begging again.”

Wonwoo sighs in defeat, then he’s rolling the two of you so you’re on your back, pressed between him and the mattress. “I guess we might as well start your new life off with a bang, shouldn’t we, my love?”

“I’d be mad if we didn’t,” you admit.

Wonwoo only laughs, pressing his lips to yours. You might have forever with him, but right now, you’re as eager and needy as you’ve ever been, and he doesn’t mind catering to you, not one bit. 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! Vampire Wonwoo just bites different- I know I say that about every new fic but for real, I'd initially planned on this being a more slow burn but Soulmate sexy vampire asshole Wonwoo? as if we all wouldn't be climbing that man like a tree

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. “Tell me what you want.” You kind of hate it when he uses his vampire master abilities on you, but at the same time, it allows you to dish out your darkest fantasies with no fear of disapproval. “I want you to make me cum so hard I can’t even think.”

cw/ tw. Oral (f receiving), blood play/vampiric drinking from each other, biting, roughhousing, fingering, orgasm control, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, overstim, man handling, pinning, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise, size kink, soft dom wonwoo, mentions of wandering eyes, multiple reader orgasms, thigh grinding, hair pulling, etc… I pet names: (hers) brat, darling.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.8k I teaser wc. 300

🌙 staring. Wonwoo x afab!reader

bonus

“Bratty baby is at it again,” Jeonghan says fondly, watching you saunter away from the table with Mingyu toward the bar. “Serves you right for staring at that juice box.”

“You’re not going to take my side on this one?” Wonwoo laughs, amused at the night's turn of events.

“Not a chance,” the long-haired vampire grins. “I don’t know why you’d even need to look at any of these fang bunnies with a soulmate like her.”

Wonwoo sighs, knowing his friend is right. He still can’t help but defend himself. “A man gets thirsty.”

“That’s what this is for,” Jeonghan retorts, swirling the liquid in his wine glass. “You gave up fang bunnies and juice boxes the moment you met your soulmate, and we both know it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wonwoo shakes his head, eyes shifting to you again. He supposes it’s only fair that you get to flirt with the bartender after he’d just been caught looking at a scantily clad woman, but the fairness of the situation does little to lessen the fire building inside of him.

You should know by now that he only has eyes for you… even if his gaze wanders from time to time. He can’t help his predatory instincts, although, he should get more of a manage on them. In fact, he should stop bringing you to vampire bars altogether, but it’s difficult to resist a night out amongst his brood mates. 

“We all know this is a kink of theirs,” Joshua muses. “They fight a little, piss each other off, and then they fuck in the back of Mingyu’s car while he drives them home like a chauffeur.”

“That’s only happened twice,” Wonwoo insists.

Joshua scoffs loudly. “Mingyu had to implement a no fucking in his jeep policy, it definitely happened more than twice.”

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[pickingupmymercedes]

Of thorns and blooms - Lewis Hamilton

request: "Can I request a Journalist reader, who lewis has his eye on and she interviews him and smexy antics ensue after the gathering. She wears a light up floral crown which lewis finds so cute and when they they celebrate an anniversary, he gives her an actual crown." - @omgsuperstarg

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Fashion Journalist! Reader!

wordcount: +3K

a/n: It took me sooo long to get the tone to this one right, but I hope it was worth the wait.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

Y/n adjusted her dress for the hundredth time as she waited for the next person she would interview, the humidity in the air boiling them all in the enclosed paradise the famous steps of the MET. The buzz of the Gala was like a living entity. And tonight, she wasn't just a fashion journalist, she was a guest, courtesy of a hand-delivered invitation from Anna Wintour herself.

A small proud smile played on her lips. It had been a long road, from the early days working in college fashion blogs to the owner of her own digital media platform. She had conquered every step on the ladder the had envisaged for her career, and the MET Gala was the cherry on top.

Her gaze swept the red carpet, catching a flash of black that snagged on her breath. Lewis.

They'd met a few times before, most notably for his iconic Vanity Fair cover in 2022. Shot in pink, in none other than Valentino, it had been a bold choice, and she had made it justice in the interview. I was a peek into the soul of a man who rarely had let himself be seen that way. It was raw, honest, and had garnered her more praise than any piece she'd ever written.

On the human level there had also been something else, a connection beyond the professional aura, but it had remained just that – a spark.

Over the years, they'd stayed in loose contact. She would congratulate him on a good race, he would message whenever he read one of her articles, a selfie once, holding her printed fashion annual he'd found at an airport in Dubai.

It felt like a secret language, a shared appreciation in their vastly different worlds.

And that night, he looked…untouchable.

A vision in a custom Burberry creation. Although not far from the usual black, his overcoat was anything but ordinary, adorned with hand-embroidered floral motifs that shimmered under the camera flashes, the thorns in his necklace a powerful statement. Heritage and resilience.

As Lewis neared her corner of the press pen, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His eyes scanned the crowd, and when they landed on her, a flicker shone within them. He diverted his path slightly, heading straight for her.

"Y/n!" he boomed, his voice surprisingly warm for someone who always tried to maintain his stoicism.

"Sir Lewis Hamilton" she replied, offering a professional smile. "Looking sharp."

He chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "You clean up nice yourself, Voltaire."

"Voltaire?" she raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Your floral crown. You quoted Voltaire on gardens being the only art that imitated nature in your preview of the met" He gestured towards her head, where a crown of intricately woven white flowers sat, each petal tipped with tiny LED lights that cast a soft glow. "It looks incredible by the way."

Her smile widened. "Maria Grazia Chiuri and I had a blast designing this piece. We wanted to honor the history of the floral crown, worn for centuries, but with a modern twist."

Lewis leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You always manage to find the hidden meaning, don't you?"

She met his gaze, the intensity surely not lost to her. "Fashion is all about meaning, Lewis. It's a language, a way to express ourselves." His gaze holding on to hers as she continued “Your statement in this Burberry. It's a powerful one”

He tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes, but just as he was about to answer back a microphone was thrust in front of them. A reporter, eager to get a quote looking impatient.

"Mr. Hamilton," the reporter began, "your outfit is quite…unexpected. Can you tell us the inspiration behind it?"

Lewis straightened his shoulders, slipping back into his professional persona. He launched into a detailed explanation of the Burberry design, his voice smooth and practiced. Y/n listened, captivated by his words and by the way his gaze flickered back to her every few seconds, a silent promise of something.

When the interview ended, the reporter scurried away. Lewis turned back to her; his smile warm. "They only gave me a few minutes," he said with mock disappointment.

"Well," she teased, "perhaps you could tell me the "real" story later," she finished, mirroring his playful tone.

A slow grin spread across Lewis's face. "Perhaps" he replied winking, a gesture that would have sent a lesser woman reeling. "I’ll find you later." He gestured towards the throng of celebrities and socialites milling about.

As Y/n wandered into the museum, she navigated the wave of guests with small talks and greetings alike. Her platform had gained traction over the past months, and her presence was becoming increasingly sought-after. But tonight, the glamor felt secondary as the show stoppers stood behind glasses of exhibitions.

As she stood and admired one of Balmain’s first collections, a familiar figure caught her eye. Lewis, leaning casually against a pillar, a glass of champagne in his hand. He was alone, just observing her, a smile breaking across his face as he saw she had noticed him, he made his way towards her, his movements graceful.

"There you are," a low rumble in his chest. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Hardly," she replied, a playful glint in her eyes.

"So," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "tell me about this secret language of fashion."

"Where do I even begin?" she laughed, a genuine, carefree sound. "Every stitch, every embellishment, every cut – it all tells a story. A story of who you are, where you come from and how you want to be perceived."

The conversation flowed easily, a back-and-forth about the art of fashion, their contrasting worlds, and the subtle messages woven into every outfit. Lewis, she discovered, was surprisingly well-versed in fashion history, his knowledge going beyond the surface. He spoke of iconic designers, groundbreaking trends, and the evolution of style through the ages, his voice filled with genuine passion as he recounted how he had learned so much from her own words.

"You know," Lewis said, his voice softer now, "you're not like anyone else I've ever met."

" This one is not gonna cut it" she asked, her heart skipping a beat.

"Right…" he said, his gaze locking on hers. "But I meant it though. You look at the story behind people. That’s rare."

His words hit her like a sucker punch, laying bare a truth she hadn't dared to public admit. She had always craved for connection with people, and fashion, she had discovered, was her way to reach for those who held their stories and dreams in their eyes and heart.

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she looked away, breaking the intense eye contact. "Perhaps you see the same," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He leaned closer; his breath warm on her ear. "Tell me about your dreams, Y/n. What stories are you trying to tell?"

And then, when she couldn’t avoid his gaze on her anymore, when the silence of his question had almost drowned her, a booming voice cut through the air. "Lewis! There you are. We have to get going."

Lewis sighed, pushing himself away from the wall. "Right" he said, a touch of regret in his voice before he turned abruptly to Y/n, as if he had just decided to take a jump "I have a proposition for you."

Intrigued, Y/n raised an eyebrow. "A proposition? Do elaborate, Hamilton."

He leaned in again, close enough for his lips to brush against her ear. “Are you, by any chance, willing to pass on those other after parties and come to mine?”

Y/n seemed to be taken aback, but just like before, when she was about to answer him, he shot her a look “I’ll text you the details. I’d love to know your stories.”  And with a final lingering look at her, Lewis offered a charming smile. "Until later."

The afterparty held a low-key energy, a contrast to the frenzy of the Met. Y/n found herself at Lewis's expansive New York City apartment, surprised by the choice of venue. It wasn't the club she'd thought of, but a tastefully decorated space that felt more like a home than a celebrity crash pad.

Lewis had introduced her to a motley crew of people. Some of his friends, but mostly, a mix of young, up-and-coming designers, photographers Y/n knew by reputation, and even a couple of journalists she had came across an article or two. The air buzzed with conversations, a refreshing change from the interactions of the Met.

As the night wore on, the crowd thinned. Y/n found herself gravitating towards a corner where Lewis stood, deep in conversation with someone she remembered to have seen at some shooting before.

"That's Kelly," Lewis said, noticing Y/n's approach. "A design prodigy. Just landed a gig with Channel"

Kelly's smile widened as Lewis introduced them. "It's an honor to meet you, Y/n," she said, her voice brimming with excitement. "I've been a huge fan for a while now."

They chatted for a while, the struggles and triumphs of breaking into the fashion world. Looking at the young woman's vibrant energy, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the platform she'd created.

But as Kelly was whisked away by another group, a comfortable silence settled between Y/n and Lewis.

He gestured towards an empty stool beside him. "Mind if I steal you for a bit?"

Y/n accepted the invitation, a playful glint in her eyes. "Only if you answer a question for me first."

"Shoot," he said, taking a swig from his drink.

"This isn't exactly the afterparty I expected," she said, gesturing to the relaxed setting. "Why here?"

Lewis chuckled, a low rumble that made her feel inadequately naïve "Maybe this is the real me," he said. "The part that doesn't crave the constant spotlight."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conversational whisper. "I thought you'd like this kind of party. I like to distance myself from the buzz when I can"

Y/n nodded, a smile playing on her lips. "A safe space."

"Something like that," he replied, his gaze lingering on her for a beat too long.

"So," Lewis began, breaking the building tension "I’m still waiting to hear about your dreams"

And so, for some ungodly pull, at a rather uncomfortable stool, she opened up to a man she had never really expected to create any kind of connection. Maybe, exactly because she never so that coming, it felt so easy to tell him her most guarded hopes.

She spoke of her platform as a way to democratize fashion, to give a voice to those who felt unseen, unheard. She spoke of empowering individuals to express themselves through who they really were, regardless of social status or bank balance.

As Y/n talked, she noticed Lewis's eyes gleaming with genuine interest. He wasn't just listening politely, he interest genuine, his questions insightful and thought-provoking. And she wondered if it was really that unexpected to find this depth hidden beneath him.

"That's incredible" Lewis said, his voice filled with admiration. “You’re giving people the tools for them to tell their stories."

"Exactly" Y/n said, a sense of understanding as he smiled with her. "It's about self-expression, about telling the world who you are."

A thoughtful frown etched itself onto Lewis's face as she leaned into the counter. "You know," he said, pausing mid-sentence, "you're quite a puzzle, Y/n."

Y/n raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Me? A puzzle?”

"There's this incredible fire in you" he continued, his voice low and husky, "a passion for giving others a voice. But then there's this… " he trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

"What?" she scoffed playfully. "I always thought I such was an open book."

Lewis chuckled; a dark, sexy sound that surely didn’t go unnoticed. "You talk about empowering others, yet I get the feeling there's a whole story you haven't shared of where that desire comes from"

Their connection had been simmering throughout the night, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Now, with Lewis's gaze holding hers captive, it threatened to tip over.

The conversation around them seemed to fade away, swallowed by the growing awareness between them. Y/n felt his unspoken questions echoing in her mind, a challenge she couldn't ignore.

As the night wore on, the guests gradually dwindled. One by one, they bid farewell to Lewis, leaving him and Y/n alone amidst the empty bottles and scattered laughter.

Y/n found her gaze drawn to him again. He stood by the window, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, his profile sharp and captivating. The urge to break the silence, to bridge the growing gap between them, became overwhelming.

She rose from the stool, her movements deliberate, and walked towards him. He turned, his surprise evident in his eyes.

"Everyone's gone, I should go" she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

"Don’t. Please" he replied, his gaze still locked on hers. "I’d love if you could stay and"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Y/n cut him off, stopping just inches away from him. The air crackled with electricity, the unspoken desire a tangible force between them.

She glanced at the faint outline of his abdomen in the fabric of his Dior shirt, her fingers tracing invisible circles on the soft fabric. Then, in a bold move, she let her nails lightly scratch across his chest, sending a jolt of heat through him.

Lewis's breath hitched. He pulled her closer by her waist, his eyes burning into hers.

Their lips met in a heated kiss, a clash of urgency and teeth. Lewis's hands roamed freely over her back, his touch numbing her to the surroundings. He was hungry for all of her.

Y/n found herself caught in the current, her own desire rising to meet his. His lips traveled down her neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

A dark part of her, a voice fueled by the intoxicating aura of him, entertained the idea of becoming just another name on his long list of conquests.

But then, as his hand reached for her thigh, a wave of clarity put an end to the haze. This wasn't a one-night stand she craved. This connection, potent and undeniable, deserved more.

Y/n broke the kiss, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. "Lewis," she whispered, her voice husky.

He stared at her, confusion, concern and desire evident in his eyes.

"Dinner first," she said, a playful smirk gracing her lips. "Then maybe we can explore this mystery you see in me."

A slow smile spread across Lewis's face, the heat in his eyes softening to amusement. "Dinner it is," he agreed, his voice raspy. "But consider this a warning. I don't give up easily."

Sunlight danced across the Aegean Sea, glowing through the large round window of the yacht's cabin. Y/n stood before the vanity, applying a final touch of lipstick, her reflection a picture of contentment.

Five years. Five years since that MET and Lewis's afterparty, a whirlwind that had swept them off their feet and turned their world upside down.

A soft knock at the door startled her. "Come in," she called out, her voice filled with a hint of anticipation.

The door creaked open, and Lewis stepped inside. He was a vision in his crisp white linens, his hair free from the braids.

But it was the velvety box in his hand that held her attention.

"There you are," he said, a playful glint in his eyes as he walked towards her.

Y/n watched him through the mirror, her heart still skipping a beat whenever he was around. He stopped behind her, his warmth radiating through her back.

"What's that?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"A little something for my favorite fashion journalist" he replied, his breath tickling her ear as he leaned close.

He opened the box, inside, nestled on a bed of white satin, lay a breathtaking piece of jewelry – a floral crown crafted from delicate diamonds. Each petal was meticulously designed, some adorned with tiny thorns, others bursting into bloom.

It was both graceful and powerful. And it wasn’t quite a necklace, nor quite a tiara. It was a piece of art.

"Lewis," she breathed, her voice filled with awe. "It's…incredible."

He took the crown from the box, his touch gentle as he held it up to the light. "Anne Wintour helped me design it," he admitted, a hint of pride in his voice. "She said it reminded her of your outfit at the Met Gala, all those years ago."

Y/n held her breath as she looked at the jewelry. The floral crown, a memory of their initial spark, now reimagined with diamonds. The strength and beauty of their love that had blossomed despite adversity.

"The thorns," he said, her voice barely a whisper, "they represent the challenges we've faced, the distance, the different worlds..."

"And the flowers," he finished after clasping it to her neck, his voice husky with emotion, "represent our love, always blooming, even in the face of those challenges."

He adjust it to her skin, his touch gentle. "It's meant to be worn by someone who sees the world differently, who tells stories with every thread" he said, his gaze holding hers.

He cupped her hand in his, his eyes brimming with love. "Someone who wears her heart on her sleeve," he continued, his voice low and husky.

She turned and their lips met slowly, a lingering kiss that spoke volumes of their love and shared journey.

"Happy anniversary, Y/n," he whispered, pulling away but not letting go, his eyes shining brighter than any star.

"Happy anniversary, Lewis" she replied, the diamond floral piece catching the sunlight and reflecting a thousand tiny rainbows in their eyes.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf @priopp123

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[fullsunstrawberry]

Bite the Bullet (M)- PREVIEW

Synopsis: Gang's bank heist gone wrong.

Pairing: Haechan x reader

Genre: CRACK!! some lines are crazy stupid, Loosely based on RD2, set around 1899 (not accurate to the time), PURE SMUT with some plot...

Warnings: lots of crime, guns, getting shot, talks of blood, talks of dying, SMUT, thigh riding on an injured leg (please don’t ride a thigh with a bullet in it), no condom mentioned, KNIFE PLAY (and more)

Word Count: 4-7k (tba)

Preview Word Count: 659

Release Date: Oct. 13

Taglist: comment or send an ask :)

A/N: I made this as a joke for one of my friends about RD2...decided to post in in October for the vibes :) mark was originally arthur lol

The skylight glowed as you and Donghyuck rode with the gang to rob a bank. Your job was to be the distraction, only knowing how to shoot a gun because of Donghyuck. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, and the last remains of twilight bathed the world in deep blues and oranges.

Everything was perfect, up until you heard gunshots fire way too soon. Something was wrong, something was very wrong. 

“Donghyuck” you worried, as you ran to the alleyway of the bank. Trying to find an entrance. 

But before you could, an explosion knocked you back into a wall. 

”You alright there, princess.” Mark worried, shocked that you hadn't left yet. 

“Where’s Donghyuck?!”

Mark shook his head, already knowing you would ask that. “He’s coming, we need to head for the roof. It’s getting heavy.” 

You nodded as Mark grabbed your hand and dragged you with him. He put a hand on your waist to help you get up the ladder. 

“There you go, girl.” 

The rooftop of Bank was an open, dangerous, the cool night air filled with the scent of smoke and the distant sound of sirens. You and Mark had barely made it up the ladder when the sound of gunfire intensified below.

The situation had spiraled out of control faster than you could process.

“Where’s Donghyuck?” you asked again, your voice tight with fear.

Mark’s face was set in a grim line. “He’s coming. He’s got the backup, but it’s not looking good down there.”

You peered over the edge, watching as chaos erupted below. Police backup kept coming, The gang was fighting fiercely, but it was clear that their chances of escaping without further trouble were slim.

Donghyuck finally made it up the stairs, firing down at someone below. 

”Donghyuck!” You called out

He looked over and saw you. But he didn’t look happy.

“What are you doing here Y/N!?” 

“I needed to make sure you were safe…” 

Donghyuck shook his head and grabbed your hand, leading you to a better hiding place. 

Donghyuck grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him. You knew you shouldn't be feeling like this right now. But the danger excited you. 

You could feel his pistol in his pocket…it was a giant pistol…wait he has his gun in his hand. 

“Hyuck,” you whined, “We need to get out of here”

Donghyuck looked at you and nodded, “Come on baby” 

As he stood up your heart started racing. You tried to grab his hand and pull him back but it was too late, Donghyuck was shot in the thigh. 

You didn't even know how to react when you saw him fall. All the gang members. 

Mark grabbed your hand and tried to pull you away from Donghyuck. “Come on girl, we need to get out of here.” 

But you pulled your hand away and shook your head ‘no’. You couldn’t leave Donghyuck…not like this. 

The gang tried to pull you away from Donghyuck one last time before Jeno and Jaemin forced the gang to leave you two.

“We need to leave, they can handle themselves,” Jeno argued shoving Mark away from the both of you.

You looked at Mark with tears in your eyes, “It’s okay, go.”

As the gang disappeared into the darkness, leaving you alone with Donghyuck who laid wounded on the rooftop, you knew you had to think fast. You ripped a part of the fabric from your dress. Tightly wrapping it on Donghyuck’s thigh. You heard him let out a groan.

"Hyuck, stay with me," you urged, your voice trembling slightly as you held his hand tightly. His eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a mix of pain and gratitude.

"Y/N...I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely, his grip weak but steady.

"Don't talk like that," you scolded gently, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear creeping into your heart. "We're going to get through this."

TBC

[rose24207]

Can you please write something where Mafia lando is being distance and suspicious and when reader looks at his phone she texts from a girl so reader starts avoiding him, being extra sad and he can tell and he corners her, she explodes about him cheating on her but it was actually his sister. (They hadn't been introduced to family yet), but happy ending, pretty please.

Misunderstanding

Summary: A misunderstanding over cryptic texts from Lando’s sister leads to heartbreak and confrontation, but ultimately strengthens the trust and love between him and his girlfriend.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, accusations of cheating

A/N: Thank you sooo much for the request! I really hope you like! Feel free to send in more requests! English is not my first language. I hope you like it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The night was unusually quiet in the penthouse, save for the soft hum of the city below. You sat curled up on the couch, your mind preoccupied as you stared blankly at the TV. The show playing was one of your favorites, but you couldn’t focus on it. Your thoughts kept drifting to Lando.

Lately, things felt… off.

He wasn’t the same. The warm, attentive man who used to shower you with affection now seemed distant, his attention constantly diverted to his phone or the late-night errands he refused to explain. You’d tried to brush it off as stress from his work—running a mafia organization was no small task—but the nagging feeling in your gut refused to go away.

You heard the soft click of the door opening, and Lando walked in. He was dressed sharply, as always, his tailored black suit hugging his frame. His tie hung loose around his neck, and his dark hair was slightly disheveled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice low and tired.

“Hey,” you replied, forcing a smile.

He leaned down to kiss your forehead, and for a moment, you felt the familiar comfort of his presence. But then his phone buzzed in his pocket, and just like that, his attention shifted. He straightened, pulling the device out, his face darkening as he read the screen. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the bedroom, his phone still in hand.

Your stomach twisted.

It had been happening more and more—these cryptic texts that seemed to pull him away from you. He never explained them, and every time you tried to ask, he’d brush it off with a vague excuse about work.

Tonight, you decided you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Half an hour later, Lando emerged from the bedroom, his tie gone and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He sat down beside you on the couch, draping an arm over your shoulders as if nothing had happened.

“What are you watching?” he asked casually, his tone light.

You shrugged. “Just something to pass the time.”

He nodded, his attention flickering to the screen. But you couldn’t focus on the conversation. Your eyes darted to his phone, which he’d carelessly placed on the coffee table. It buzzed again, the screen lighting up for a brief moment.

You glanced at him. His gaze was fixed on the TV, his expression unreadable. Carefully, you leaned forward, pretending to adjust the blanket over your legs. When you caught sight of the name on the screen, your heart sank: Sofia

Beneath her name, a preview of the message read:

Can‘t wait to see you again. Last night was…

You didn’t bother to read the rest.

Your blood ran cold as you sat back, your mind racing. Who the hell was Sofia? Why was she texting Lando things like that? And more importantly, why was he hiding it from you?

You felt a lump rise in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You couldn’t let him see how much the message had shaken you. Not yet.

“I think I’m going to head to bed,” you said abruptly, standing up.

Lando frowned, his brow furrowing. “Already? It’s still early.”

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “I’m just tired.”

He didn’t push, but you could feel his eyes on you as you walked away.

The next few days were agonizing.

You couldn’t stop replaying the message in your head, your imagination running wild with worst-case scenarios. You started avoiding Lando, making excuses to stay out of the apartment or retreating to the bedroom when he was home. When he tried to touch you, you’d pull away. When he asked if you were okay, you’d give him a clipped “I’m fine.”

But you weren’t fine. You were spiraling.

And Lando noticed.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he demanded one evening, cornering you in the kitchen.

You froze, clutching the mug of tea in your hands. “Nothing,” you said quickly.

“Don’t give me that.” He stepped closer, his dark eyes searching yours. “You’ve been acting weird all week. You barely talk to me, and you can’t even look me in the eye. Did something happen?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. Should you confront him? Demand to know who Sofia was? Or should you keep quiet and hope it all blew over?

His phone buzzed on the counter, and your resolve crumbled.

“Who’s Sofia?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Lando stiffened, his expression hardening. “What?”

“Sofia,” you repeated, your voice trembling. “She’s been texting you, hasn’t she? I saw her name the other night. She said she couldn’t wait to see you again. Is she the reason you’ve been so distant?”

He stared at you, his jaw tight. “You looked at my phone?”

“That’s not the point!” you snapped, tears welling in your eyes. “The point is, I’ve been sitting here wondering why my boyfriend suddenly doesn’t have time for me, why he’s always distracted, and now I find out it’s because of her?!”

Lando’s eyes softened, but you were too angry—too hurt—to notice.

“Do you think I’m cheating on you?” he asked quietly.

“What else am I supposed to think?” you cried. “You’ve been sneaking around, lying to me, and now there’s some girl sending you flirty messages? You tell me, Lando, what am I supposed to think?”

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze fixed on you. Then, with a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and reached for his phone.

“Sofia is my sister,” he said, unlocking the device and holding it out to you.

You blinked, your anger faltering. “What?”

“She’s my sister,” he repeated, his tone firm. “The messages you saw? They weren’t what you think. She’s been staying out of the city for her safety, and I’ve been helping her with some problems. That’s why I’ve been so distracted.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. “But… the text…”

“Read the rest of it,” he said, his voice soft but insistent.

With trembling hands, you took the phone and scrolled to the conversation. Sure enough, the message you’d seen continued:

Last night was terrifying. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there. Thank you, Lando.

Your chest tightened as the guilt hit you like a truck.

“I should’ve told you about her,” Lando said, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “But I didn’t want to drag you into more of my family’s mess. I thought I was protecting you.”

Tears filled your eyes as you handed the phone back to him. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I should’ve trusted you.”

He stepped closer, cupping your face in his hands. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t important to me. You’re everything to me.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and he wiped it away with his thumb. “I just didn’t want you to worry about Sofia or what’s been going on. But from now on, I’ll tell you everything. No more secrets.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with relief and love. “Okay.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too,” you replied, wrapping your arms around him.

As he held you close, the tension that had been hanging over you for weeks finally lifted, leaving nothing but the warmth of his embrace.

Thank you for reading!

[rheative]

🏇 Racing Set 🏇

UPDATE 31/01/24 : Added alternative version of the mask for the Head Override by Vriheddiyev & updated shadows on the entire set

I've been working on this mod for so long and I'm so happy to release it ! It was my first time making CAS items and, I ain't gonna lie, it was hard. I feel like what I'm posting is the best I can do with my skills at the moment.

There are 7 items in this set with 10 swatches inspired by famous horses and jockeys :

Helmet / 10 swatches (can be worn with hair)

Silk for male frame / 10 swatches ( + alternative simlish version)

Silk for female frame / 10 swatches ( + alternative simlish version)

Both silks are made to work with the Converted Breeches by Sass and Freckles

Mask / 10 swatches (+ alternative version for the Head Override by Vriheddiyev)

Mask with blinkers / 10 swatches (+ alternative version for the Head Override by Vriheddiyev)

Saddle / 17 swatches (Maxis-Match)

Saddle Pad / 30 swatches ( + alternative simlish version )

(still working on alternative version of the mask for the Head Override by Vriheddiyev)

→ Download on my Patreon

For Recolors : 

Make as many as you wish as long as you link back to my mod ! You can use my Design you silk ! set to mix and match patterns to create the perfect silk for your stable ! You will find a written tutorial and the photoshop files for all the items of the set.

Mods used in the previews :

Racing Poses by Lone Pine Estate

Loose Ring Snaffle Bridle by SchrodCat

Converted Breeches by Sass and Freckles

Smaller Eyes + Eye Geom Fix by .Objuct

[solarishashernoseinabook]

a lil.. a lil treat of autistic!Halt and Crowley adopting mayhaps a little toddler?

Yours was the second treat that got too long for tumblr bestie!! Check it out on AO3, perhaps after taking a little looksie at the preview below :D Once again, this fic will be open for all to read for the first week before being restricted to registered users only.

(In a first for me, the preview isn't actually from the beginning of the fic, but later on)

--

       They had been assured this part of the castle was very quiet. Arald, knowing Crowley needed to focus on his work as Commandant, had given them a lavish suite in an area that wouldn't see many guests or parties, and assigned a small team of servants to them. It was near the library and kitchens, so they had everything they needed at hand.         What Arald hadn’t mentioned was that it was very close to the Ward.         Halt knew the children normally got time to play outdoors – he had seen it often enough when he and Crowley had first come to stay at the castle. But by now winter was well underway, and rather than let the children play outside and track snow back into the Ward, they were let loose in the halls to run off their energy and get a change of scenery.         ‘I don’t know how you can concentrate through all this,’ Halt said, as what sounded like a herd of wild horses ran past their closed door.         ‘It’s nothing compared to what my younger siblings got up to,’ Crowley said, sticking a report on a tottering stack of paper.         Halt twitched. ‘At least let me organise that properly.’         ‘It is properly organised. I have a system,’ Crowley said.         Halt sighed and stood. ‘Well, I need to go to the library anyway. Can I take some scrap paper for notes?’         ‘Sure. There’s some there – no, there, that pile – yes, that one.’ Crowley grinned. ‘Don’t get lost out there.’         ‘I’ll be fine,’ Halt said dryly. He went out into the hall, dodged some racing ten year olds, and went off to the library.         Halt and Crowley had been working jointly on a case involving a minor landowner in the far reaches of Redmont fief, who apparently had several odd phenomena happening around his property. It had resulted in several accusations of witchcraft, with practically the entire staff pointing fingers at each other, eventually culminating in the death of an old seamstress. Halt would have needed to come to Castle Redmont’s library at some point to see how to proceed; at least now he didn’t have to make a dedicated trip. He pulled several books on case law and local history off the shelf, settled into a corner, and began reading.         He wasn’t sure how long it had been when he felt eyes on him and looked up. A small child was watching him – a child Halt recognised instantly.         Will. 

[lauronk]

whumptober preview

thanks for the tag for this @two-birds-alone-together!!

i think i'm being a little overambitious with my whumptober prompts this year so we'll see how it goes BUT here's what we've got so far

day 1 - race against the clock/search party + missing & presumed dead (a whumptober/bthb mashup)

day 5 - sunburn

alternate prompt - friendly fire + bleeding out (a whumptober + bthb mashup)

day 25 - surgery + appendicitis (a whumptober + bthb mashup)

those are the ones i have starts for, anyways. also have plans for seeing double (a follow-up to day 1); blood trail; regret (a follow-up to friendly fire + bleeding out); and loose ideas for three or four more. gonna depend on how much i get done this week in advance, trying to make me a little stockpile

[f14fun]

stimulus ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🦢˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚.

hey everyone! i'm working on a new max verstappen fic, and I wanted to give you guys a preview of the fic, hope you enjoy!

this fic is going to be a mix of prose and a social media au!

the fic is going to be about a girl getting her masters degree in sports business management at the university of monaco, and lands an internship at redbull racing as a formula one fan engagement executive. it's the first day on the job and one little mishap leads to a great enemies to lovers romance with none other than max verstappen. I'm still working out some kinks and details of the fic, so let me know if there are any plot ideas you want to see!

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*fic preview*

The wise actress Katharine Hepburn once said, "Enemies are so stimulating." Stimulating, infuriating, vexing—all can be said as the same thing.

As I stare at Max Verstappen, one hand on my hip, the other tightly wrapped around the crinkled paper on my clipboard, I can't help but feel a mix of all these emotions swirling inside me. He blinks a few times, and I blink back. His lips curve from an exasperated frown to a satisfied smirk. Lips thinning, and drying, I lick them once for good measure. His gaze follows the rosy tip of my tongue that peeks out from between them, and I see him gulp down his smug smile. Two seconds ago, we were arguing. Now the silence that envelops us seems daunting at first, but perhaps, it's inviting.

The tension between us hangs in the air, charged with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. The line between love and hate is very thin, and perhaps that's what makes it so stimulating.

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Advising My Dear Readers:

Not all events in this fanfiction are strictly factual; rather, they may parallel or loosely mirror real events and opportunities. Do with this information as you may, and please refrain from hate or negative comments if something isn't exactly "right". All contents in this fanfiction belong to @f14fun. © All rights reserved.

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

✨ New Patreon Upload! ✨

Hey everyone! I’ve just uploaded a new Trent fic on my Patreon, and you definitely don’t want to miss it!

Head over now to check it out and show some love! 🙌

��� Link in bio! ✨ Let me know your thoughts after reading! 💬

Don't forget my Patreon is now available for $3 for the month of December; don't miss your chance to catch up on all the exclusive content before the month ends!

Sweetened Memories

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — The one where he falls for you again.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Trent Alexander-Arnold x You

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 5.8k

Warnings! FLUFF!! so much fluff, childhoodfriends!au, they're in loveee

Preview

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The coffee machine sputtered and groaned under your firm but futile grip, emitting a steaming hiss that served as the final exclamation point on yet another failed attempt. It's beyond saving, and deep down, you knew it.

Still, you gave it one last tap out of sheer stubbornness before stepping back with a sigh.

Your mum’s old bakery had seen better days, its equipment far from the shiny, state-of-the-art setups you’d seen on glossy magazine pages or Instagram feeds.

Yet, despite the peeling paint, creaking floorboards, and temperamental appliances, this place was home—a stubborn little corner of the world that had witnessed your happiest and hardest days. And for that you could never give it up.

You'll fight till the end.

The comforting hum of the bakery was broken by the cheerful jingle of the bell above the door, signaling a customer. Wiping your hands on your flour-dusted apron, you hurriedly finished up what you were doing before looking towards the sound.

“Be right there!” you called out automatically, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face as you turned toward the counter.

When your eyes landed on the figure standing just inside the doorway, your heart faltered, stumbling in a way that caught you off guard.

There, silhouetted against the warm glow of the morning sun streaming through the glass, stood Trent Alexander-Arnold.

His baseball cap was tugged low, shadowing his familiar features, and a hoodie hung loosely over his broad shoulders, doing little to disguise his unmistakable frame. But it wasn’t just him. A small girl clung to his hand, half-hiding behind his leg as her curious eyes darted around the bakery.

For a moment, your brain scrambled to connect the dots. Trent. Here. In your mum’s bakery. The realization hit like a splash of cold water, jolting you upright.

His gaze flicked toward you briefly, and at first, there was no sign of recognition. But as your startled expression softened into a knowing smile, something shifted in his posture. His brows furrowed slightly, and a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face.

“Hey,” he said cautiously, his voice quiet but instantly recognizable. “I just need a quick—”

“Trent,” you interrupted, your voice warm with amusement. His name felt foreign on your tongue after so many years, like an old song you hadn’t sung in ages. Yet, it came naturally, almost effortlessly.

He froze mid-sentence, his sharp gaze narrowing as he studied you more closely. And then, as though a veil lifted, recognition dawned. His eyes widened slightly, his expression softening as his features shifted from confusion to something bordering on disbelief.

“Wait… you're—” he began, his voice trailing off as the pieces clicked into place.

“The girl who pushed you into a puddle in Year Five because you made fun of my braces?” you offered, a soft laugh escaping you as the memory bubbled to the surface.

For a beat, he stared at you, then broke into a lopsided grin that sent an unwelcome flutter through your chest. “I was gonna say the girl who could never beat me in races on the playground, but sure, let’s go with that.”

You rolled your eyes, the teasing lilt in his tone instantly familiar. “Selective memory, as always. Some things never change.”

**********

-Bianca🌻

[evita-shelby]

have a preview for The Black Horse and the Gold

Heavenerys and Amos Bolton belong to @call-sign-shark with some tweaks from me so they fit during the time period the adventures of Dunk and Egg(A Knight for the Seven Kingdoms novella/new show) takes place.

for context its been over a century since the last dragon died, the Dance of Dragons happened and removed women from the line of succession. will try to provide some more context as the show has yet to come out.

i base my au more on the books than the show because i didn't like eitehr adaptation except for providing faces for the characters.

His sigil is a black horsehead.

Not the gold his elder brother uses nor the gray his aunt uses as Lady Gray, but black, the original sigil of their house.

Thomas Ryswell is not the first to press his suit, but he is the only one who has not participated in the tourney to gain her attention.

He is a good rider, Heavenerys had confirmed the rumors of House Ryswell having the best horses and riders beyond the Neck. Heavenerys Targaryen had also been having an affair with his brother and would wed him the moment her half-year mourning period was done. It would look bad on her father, Aerys, if she didn’t put on her widow’s weeds for the ghastly Amos Bolton.

After all, she was the only daughter of the new King and was the only hopes for his crown not to pass to his mad brother, Rhaegel. Things were expected of Hev, should she have a son, he may rule as his grandsire’s heir since the Dance of the Dragons forever barred women from inheriting the Iron Throne.

Things were not expected from Aeva, well, not beyond keeping some semblance of decorum even if everyone knows how loose her morals are. She was free as the wind and no net would ensnare her for as long as she lived.

They come by each other while riding in the Kingswood, she in her shimmering golden mare and he in his black as coal stallion. No words are exchanged and yet he understands she is suggesting a race between them.

Hev had said he was the best rider in the north, no one could outrace him and as they push their horses to their limits, Aeva considers her cousin may not have been exaggerating because he’s her lover’s brother.

The Princess’ riding veil has fallen off somewhere and her dark mane flows freely behind her. She laughs and purposely loses to him as they race to the stream they intended to take their horses to.

“Well met, Ser.” The princess addresses the northman whose sorrows cannot leave his eyes no matter what he does. He may not speak to her unless she does first, she was princess and he merely a second son of a vassal house after all.

Amos hated it when Aeva would pull rank on him. The fool believed that because he managed to get his grubby hands on the new king’s only daughter, he had any right to believe himself the family’s equal. Amos was still a vassal lord to Lord Stark; Aeva was a daughter of House Martell and House Targaryen through her grandmother Daenerys, sister of the late King Daeron II and wife of Prince Maron Martell.

Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. Aeva would be damned if she didn’t live by her house’s words.

“I am no knight, your highness.” He corrects looking as wild as she does. A less honorable man would’ve demanded his reward already and yet Thomas Ryswell does not push it.

“All men are knights where a woman is concerned, Lord Ryswell.” Aeva manages to make him smile as she quotes part of Florian the Fool as she comes close enough to see his damnably blue eyes up close. You can see the core of a person through them, discern between friend from foe and lie from truth. “You ride better than most, none have been able to keep up with Erinys like your steed has done.”

“You threw the race, your highness, I would have preferred a fair game.” The dark-haired young man points out and yet stays just a breath away from her.

---

Hopefully i might finish it soon lol

@justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature @cillmequick @call-sign-shark @peakyswritings @hoodeddreams13

Erinys is a name given to Demeter after Poseidon raped her while both had horse forms, means raging. Would've gone with Nymeria but i think for a Dornish promcess that might be insulting her ancestress.

[blackbirdffxiv]

"Vampy GF" for Face 1 Fem Highlanders has been officially updated for Dawntrail!

It's been a bit edited and tweaked to fit more with the games current graphics systems, including fixing the eyeshadow from breaching into the brow, as well as lowering the opacity of the makeup to fit more into the game's aesthetics.

INCLUDES:

- PMP File (For quick install) - Loose PNG files of the multi & diffuse - Extra previews on other skintones (with a basic gameplay filter & one of my more common gpose filters)

DOWNLOAD:

XMA: https://www.xivmodarchive.com/modid/113891

KOFI: https://ko-fi.com/s/4b7bfa724d

Perms / TOS Below:

PERMS/TOS (GENERAL USE):

- Please do not sell or use parts of the makeup in your own creations (paid or otherwise) - Private edits/conversions for yourself or friends are 100% okay; have fun, go nuts.

If you wish to release your "ports" to other faces/races, I only ask that you DM me first (mostly so I can link them in the download repositories), but they must meet the criteria below:

- Must retain the original name & my tag (SME), credit me for the original work, and link back to the original - Must be compatible with darker skintones - Previews for ports must include previews on darker skintones - Must remain free; tips/donations for work are permitted - Must be publicly available at least on XMA and/or kofi; cannot be locked behind discord, trello, etc.

[undermounts]

bite the hand - chapter 8: an intimate and loving thing

pairing: Astarion/The Dark Urge

summary: Astarion helps her hide the body. Romance ensues.

chapter preview:

This—This! It is so much better than anything the priest could have offered her: Astarion at her back, her blood in his mouth. She meant what she said: he can have this if he wants it, whenever he wants it. Her blood, her pain, she will give it to him freely, and perhaps that is what Abdirak meant about his offerings—‘an intimate and loving thing.’

Read it on Ao3

He will free her.

Irileth goes where the bloodied priest of Loviatar guides her. She barely registers the words of encouragement Abdirak spouts nor does she absorb any of his talk about the Pain Maiden’s blessings as she removes her armor and underclothes. Completely bare above the waist, she moves slowly and carefully, the sinner repentant idealized, submitting to the will of a higher authority and an even higher power.

But secretly, Irileth’s heart races, nearly leaping with giddy joy at the very thought of the brutality she will not only bear witness to, but play a pivotal part in. Her warped soul salivates at the pain she delivers unto others, it is true, but being the recipient of torment is a delicacy on its own. She intends to savor every second of it.

Despicable, Irileth rebukes herself. She isn’t supposed to enjoy this, she is supposed to suffer.

At last, she stands in the scarlet pool beside the shrine, facing the wall, her knees loose and feet planted shoulder width apart. The cracked stone is speckled with blood. Soon, hers will join this most morbid collaboration; her and how many others, united in sweet misery.

Irileth inhales deeply, rolling her shoulders. “I am ready.” 

“Very good.” There is no masking Abdirak’s eagerness to see her bleed. “Let us begin.”

There is a moment of silence in which Irileth’s mind is left to wander—what instrument has the priest chosen? A leather flail like the one she saw him use on himself? A club? Or something sharper, perhaps spiked? (Oh, how she longs for something sharp. She wants it to sting) Then—

Irileth gasps, her vision flashing white as agony tears through her, making her scalp seize and her fingers spasm against the stone wall. Instantly, blood oozes down her skin from the spot where Abdirak struck her between the shoulders. Even the air stings her ravaged flesh and the muscles of her back flex uncontrollably.

He has chosen a mace, Irilieth can tell without looking. Solid in heft, she knows the sound metal makes against skin and muscle.

“The pain you suffer will cleanse you—do not fight it.”

Irileth grits her teeth, and a sudden ferocity takes hold of her. That he would dare to give her advice is laughable.  “Pathetic,” she snarls, a woman possessed. “I have borne much worse.”

The only warning Irileth gets before the next blow is the sound of air whistling around the mace. Then it is upon her again, this time beneath her right shoulder blade, striking her with such force that she is jarred forward and must brace herself hard against the wall.

Irileth grunts beneath the impact and the noise is more animal than person. Her head is positively sparking with the torment, bright flashes of color bursting in front of her eyes. And still she wants more.

Irileth gnashes her teeth, spitting onto the ground, savage. “If I was in your place, I would flay you alive! ”

Abdirak is ecstatic. “Hah! Oh, I wish you would, dear one! You want more? I’ll give it to you.”

He hits her a third time, his sacred instrument of pain landing in the same spot as the last, and Irileth cries out. Her knees quake and she digs her fingernails into the cracks between the stone, desperate to stay upright.

“Harder,” she challenges, and her voice is foreign to her, something cold and ancient that should never have been unearthed. “Or I will send you to the Lord of Murder myself, Loviatar be damned.”

“Pain is proof that we live! Revel in it.”

The mace collides with her back for a fourth and final time. Irileth shudders forward, and this time, she cannot even muster a cry. She leans against the wall, panting. Relief courses through her, but the feeling is laced through with loathing, for there is something dark and terrible within her—of that, there can no longer be any doubt. She felt it rise to the top, like black oil on water, and Irileth can only hope she has punished it just as thoroughly as she has punished herself.

Abdirak pants behind her and the mace clatters to the ground with a terrible clang. “Be holy.”

Irileth breathes deeply to collect herself, then straightens, although every muscle in her back screams in protest. Her vision swims, tinged at the edges with black, and she must keep her hand on the wall to stay upright.

“Sweet child, you bore your pain like a true believer,” Abdirak praises her when their eyes meet and he dips his head graciously. “I am proud to have served you this penance. Loviatar herself found your performance… inspiring. She has deemed you worthy of her blessing.”

A strange sensation envelops Irileth. For but an instant, the agony in her back intensifies and her ears ring as her jaw tenses uncontrollably. Then as quickly as it came, the sensation dulls, and Irileth’s pain melts into something softer and almost pleasurable. The bleeding on her back slows to a halt, though the wounds don’t completely close.

“Thank you. I enjoyed myself.” Irileth feels as though she’s been split open and scraped bare with a paring knife, but instead of feeling clean, she only feels hollow. Empty and yet so full—with disappointment, disgust, and disdain.

She swallows thickly, her throat tight and mouth full of saliva, and pushes her feelings aside. Irileth closes her eyes, taking a brief reprieve to draw upon her resolve for strength. Then she manages, “Do you… do you have a rag, so that I might clean myself up?”

“Yes, of course,” Abdirak acquiesces, and goes to a wash bin set in the corner behind a bookshelf.

Irileth watches him, waiting until his back is turned, attention elsewhere, then grabs one of the knives off of his table and follows his path. Every step is excruciating, and her stealth leaves something to be desired, but she was made for violence. Even battered and bleeding, she is enough.

Irileth uses her weight to thrust Abdirak into the basin, water sloshing over the side, and holds his knife against his throat. His yelp of surprise is quickly muffled as Irileth clamps her hand over his mouth and murmurs, “Shhh. Be quiet. I don’t want to kill you, priest, but I will.”

Abdirak goes still against her, the barbs of his cruel pauldrons biting into both his skin and hers. After a moment, he nods and Irileth releases his mouth to grab his shoulder for leverage.

“Blessed one, what is this?”

“I am grateful for your deliverance, truly,” Irileth says coolly, even as her breath lands erratically on the back of the priest’s neck. “But I came here for a reason.”

“A reason beyond your divine penance?” Abdirak asks. He turns his head slightly to meet her gaze, but Irieth holds the blade harder against his neck, forcing him to stay still. His voice leaps, cracks. “Speak it so that I might help you, child.”

He is afraid of her. Again, Irileth feels it: the heady rush of euphoria that had nearly overtaken her when she realized what sort of power she held over Astarion the night he tried to bite her. She held his life in her hands and, in the moment, he feared her for that; he would have done anything she told him. 

Irileth shied away from the desire to expand upon her terror then, to intimidate another into submission, but she indulges in it now.

(How much of this power-lust results from her strange compulsion, she wonders, and how much is just her?)

“I’m here for information on the druid Halsin,” Irileth tells him, keeping her voice soft and low. “Is he alive?”

Abdirak is silent for a long beat, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Silent for too long.

Irileth shoves him harder into the basin and his throat jumps against the knife, feeling its cold edge. “Is he alive?”

“Yes!” the priest yelps, then quickly lowers his voice when he remembers her order to be quiet. “He’s still alive. I saw him earlier, in a wildshaped form. He doesn’t let anyone get close.”

“Where can I find him?”

Abdirak's fear is pungent in the air, but does he… like her handling of him? “He is in the worg pen in the northeastern corner of the temple. Near where the Nightwarden—the General—holds her audiences.”

Good. Good.

Irileth drops her voice to a bare whisper and digs her nails into Abdirak’s shoulder, causing him to suck in a sharp breath between his teeth. “This camp is going to be decimated come morning. If I release you now, you are going to tell no one I was here and you will leave tonight. If you don’t, I cannot guarantee you will be spared tomorrow. Understand?”

“I will leave right away,” he agrees quickly, and yes, there is definitely excitement permeating his voice. “I swear it to the Pain Maiden herself.”

“Good.” Irileth drops her hands away from him and Abdirak hastily moves out from between her and the basin. Small puncture wounds weep blood from where his barbed chestpiece gouged his skin. Distantly, Irileth is aware that similar wounds dot her forearms, like gory constellations. “Go. And be subtle. Don’t alert anyone else.”

“You are fascinating, child,” Abdirak muses, voice full of intrigue, and he gazes at her half-naked and bleeding body with admiration. “I long to see what you have planned, but I understand your terms.” 

“Betray me,” Irileth threatens, “and I will flay the muscles from your bones, just as I said before.”

She’s not sure her threat had quite the impact she’d hoped—it seems to have the opposite effect, actually—but Abdirak apparently grasps her meaning. Hastily, he picks up the mace he left on the ground and starts to flee, though he pauses in the crumbling mouth of the room.

Irileth lets the knife dangle from her fingertips; if he opens his mouth to shout, will she throw her blade fast enough to sever his windpipe before he can make a sound? She’s willing to bet on the odds.

“Take out the war drums first,” Abdirak tells her quietly. “Do that, and no one will know you’re coming.”

And then he exits the room, leaving Irileth alone. She waits, listening intently for any shouting or warning bells, but none come. After enough time passes and she’s certain that Abdirak has disappeared, their deal unbroken, she slumps against the washbasin, on the verge of passing out.

Well. That was unexpected, but worth it. Further exploration of the temple is out of the question, given Irileth’s current state, but what she has gleaned from Abdirak and her own observations should be more than enough to give her companions an edge tomorrow.

Irileth closes her eyes, taking a moment to collect her thoughts and calm the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Loviatar’s blessing healed the worst of her injuries, though much of her back is still marred by shallow punctures. She leaves her breast band off—just thinking about refastening it over her wounds make them ache—and painstakingly slips her shirt on, acutely aware of the blood that soaks the waistband of her trousers and now seeps into her shirt, suctioning the fabric to her back. She leaves her armor off for now.

Irileth wants nothing more than to fall into blissful and sorely-needed sleep, but there are other matters to attend to first. The back of her scalp prickles in agreement and Irileth finally lifts her head, directing her gaze to a section in the wall, close to the ceiling, where part of the masonry has tumbled away. She’s not sure how long he’s been following her, but she sensed his presence (the tadpole’s effects, or just him?) the moment she entered the priest’s quarters.

“You can come down now,” Irileth says into the empty room. “Unless you’d rather make me come up?”

There’s a pause, and then the dark shadow hiding behind the collapsed wall moves, hauling itself through the gap that leads from the rafters above the great hall to the shrined room. Astarion swings down from a stone lip at the base of the hole, then drops several meters to the ground where he lands silently with his thief’s reflexes.

“I thought he was going to keep going until he killed you,” Astarion says by way of greeting, and his voice sounds odd. Strained. “I had half a mind to come down here to deal with him myself.”

Did he? Irileth feels her face warm. How novel: the simple suggestion that Astarion thought she might need protecting, and that he would do it. 

She looks past him toward the ingress of the room. She and Astarion are still out of view from the main hall, obscured by the dilapidated walls and piles of rubble, but should anyone walk in, there is nowhere to hide. Although they have not yet made enemies of the goblins and the Absolute cultists, Irileth doubts anyone would appreciate their midnight break-in.

“You were supposed to wait outside,” she says, centering her attention on Astarion as she refastens her belt around her waist. The weight of her daggers against her hips is comforting. Natural. 

“And miss out on all of the fun?” he replies, his gaze intense on her face. His entire body is held taut, so unlike his usual languid posture. “I do almost everything you ask of me, darling, but you’ll have to forgive me for disobeying your orders, just this once.”

“Just this once?” Irileth repeats, doubtful.

Astarion only answers her question with a wry smile that makes her stomach flip. His gaze drops to Irileth’s leather armor, sitting on the table, and the shimmering red cloak beneath it. Irileth shifts uncomfortably, reaching behind to unstick her shirt from the wounds on her back, and Astarion’s gaze snaps back to her.

“I knew you were bound to get up to some trouble.” He waves his arm at the shrine and steps closer to her. “Although, I had no idea it would be something as delicious as this.” Astarion pauses and his countenance loses its characteristic rakishness. “How badly does it hurt? Your back, I mean.” 

Irileth exhales a sharp laugh and smiles wryly, though the expression requires more effort than usual, forced as it is. “More than you can probably imagine.”

Astarion doesn’t return her smile. “I assure you, I can. May I see it?”

Irileth’s thoughts stutter to a halt. “You want to see my back?”

“I want to see if any of the damage is permanent , my dear,” Astarion replies flatly, and his expression is impassive—no, irritated? He unslings his longbow and quiver, then sets both on the table beside her armor. “Most people would be on the floor if they were beaten like you were. I’d like to know if I need to spirit you away to Shadowheart before you lose any important bits.”

Irileth grimaces. She doesn’t want to go to Shadowheart—how to explain this?

Actually, maybe the cleric would like it; this seems like exactly the sort of thing an acolyte of the Nightsinger would approve of.

(‘You reminded me of myself. When I pray.’)

Astarion steps closer, his fingertips pinching the hem of her shirt between his fingers. “May I?”

Irileth frowns, suddenly overcome with a strange bashfulness over Astarion seeing her unclothed, which is ridiculous, really. He’s already seen all there is to see, when she was naked in the river.

But this, somehow, is different.

“Alright,” Irileth concedes, turning around to face the wall. It is strange (and a bit thrilling, though she won’t admit it) to be in this position for the second time tonight, now with Astarion at her back.

His fingers are cool as they unstick her shirt, damp with blood, from her back. Astarion scrunches the fabric up beneath her arms, allowing just enough slack to keep her chest mostly covered, providing her some semblance of modesty. She can hear air whistle through his teeth as he sucks in a breath. “How are you even standing?”

Astarion skims the flat of his palm up her side and over her ribs, his thumb gently prodding at the edge of one of the wounds beneath her shoulder. His simple touch lights a spark of pain as he presses her sensitive skin; it makes Irileth hiss, grinding her jaw, even as warmth pools low in her stomach.

She certainly did not feel that with the priest.

“Call it divine intervention,” she says dryly, letting her head fall forward to press against the cold stone. “I apparently inspired Loviatar tonight.”

“I’m sure she’s not the only one you inspired,” Astarion murmurs distractedly, and now his fingers flutter over the notches at the base of her neck, just above where the first blow had landed. “That priest was practically slobbering over you. Especially after you held a knife to his throat.”

Does he sound… envious?

Irileth turns her face to peer at Astarion over her shoulder and finds that he is already staring at her, anticipating her gaze. At this proximity, she can see just how wide his pupils are. His nostrils flare, a single fang winking in the firelight as his tongue wets his lips.

Ah, she thinks a bit dizzily. He’s hungry. That revelation should not come as such a surprise; this place reeks of blood, hers included. (Does he want…?)

Astarion looks away suddenly and Irileth feels the absence of his gaze like the coldness of shadow. His armor rasps dryly as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, betraying his sudden discomfort. 

“Now, darling, you know how much I detest talking about feelings…” 

Astarion’s eyes are still downcast, avoiding her stare under the guise of continuing to assess her injuries. “But I feel that it would be terribly remiss of me if I didn’t ask what inspired all of this.” He lowers his voice by a fraction, and his tone is not without pity. “Is it because of that bard?”

Irileth’s anger is a clarifying lance. She must grip the wall in front of her to stop herself from slapping his hands away. How dare—

“That bard has a name,” she bites out, glaring at the stone beneath her feet. “Alfira.”

Astarion sighs heavily, entirely unbothered by her regret-fueled ire, as if he’d been expecting it all along and finds it—what? Tiresome? Disappointing?

(No. Familiar.)  

“Look. I know I have a bit of a, ah, casual relationship with murder.” His fingertips skate along the slope of her waist, and Irileth can’t tell if he’s trying to soothe her temper or his own restlessness. “But listen when I tell you that you can’t throw yourself on the pyre every time someone innocent catches the blade. Otherwise…” 

Irileth risks another glance at Astarion when he trails off. It is so unusual to see him at a loss for words and unsure of himself. His hands freeze in their path, knuckles bending as if he seeks to grab something that isn’t there. 

Then the moment passes and Astarion clears his throat, resuming with a shake of his head. “Otherwise you’ll never move on.”

On some instinctive level, Irileth knows he’s right. And yet there’s a stubborn part of her, a real glutton for punishment, that refuses: I don’t want to move on.

But the look in Astarion’s eyes when he finally meets her gaze again—it is startlingly genuine and Irileth feels her soul settle, seen. For someone who so dislikes sincerity, he certainly enjoys frequently looking into the shadowed center of her and picking up the fragmented shards that reflect them both. She wonders if Astarion is even aware that he does this, or if this is his unspoken way of asking her to do the same.

“It doesn’t feel right,” Irileth confesses, hanging her head as that strange and oily feeling of disappointment returns to her. “There should be some sort of punishment for what I’ve done. I thought this might be it.”

She’d hoped it would be, at least.

“Maybe there will be. Or maybe there won’t.” Astarion shrugs helplessly as he fidgets with the hem of Irileth’s shirt, her injuries now well and truly forgotten. “But we’ve enough to worry about without you seeking your sentence at every turn. The last two centuries have taught me that people far worse than you never face their consequences, no matter how well-deserved.”

“And that’s just alright with you?” Irileth blurts, astounded by his matter-of-factness. “I thought you were a magistrate.”

“What’s alright with me hardly matters,” Astarion says coolly, and Irileth winces at the flinty edge of his voice. “It never has.”

Why? she wants to ask. Why doesn’t it matter? It should.

“And yes,” Astarion continues, his expression clouded and dark. “I was a magistrate. But that was a long time ago. I’m a lot smarter now than I was then.”

He looks away from her, though not before she catches the terrible bitterness that crosses his face, fleeting in the dim light. Astarion sighs heavily, and drops one of his hands from her waist.

“Here,” he says, and Irileth belatedly realizes he’s holding a healing potion out to her. “I figured that whatever we were getting up to tonight, it would be prudent to bring one of these.”

Oh. Isn’t that thoughtful. She takes one hand off the wall to receive the potion, but doesn’t open it. “Thanks.”

Astarion merely nods in response, turning his focus to her back once more, if only to steer their conversation into safer waters. (As if he didn’t bring them to this space of vulnerability in the first place—so utterly full of contradictions, this one.)

“Divine intervention indeed,” he muses aloud, gently touching a bruise that has already started to form below her ribs. “Well. The damage doesn’t look permanent, or at least it’s nothing our dear cleric won’t be able to fix. You might have to grovel for her help; that would be a sight, I’m sure.”

Astarion starts to back away but before he can release her shirt, Irileth stops him, struck by a sudden idea. “Wait.”

He looks at her, eyes bright in the firelight, and arches a brow. “Yes?”

Oh, Hells. With her shirt already rucked up to her midriff, she thought she wouldn’t have any shame left to feel. And yet, Irileth’s face feels mortifyingly hot as she looks at him and asks, “Do you need any blood?”

She is absolutely mad, she must be.

Astarion’s breath leaves him in a sharp gust as his pupils, if possible, widen further, nearly swallowing up the red. “You,” he says, and his hand flexes against her side, betraying his interest, “are hardly in a position to be offering.”

He may very well be right. Irileth clings to the wall, for her knees feel weak and unsteady beneath her. Gods, what is she doing? Why is she doing this? Out of pity, or out of gratitude? Is she just seeking another form of penance?

No, she offers because she wants to.

“I’ll be fine,” she says dismissively, even as her voice drips with weariness. “If you want it, it’s yours. I need you—you need to be strong tomorrow.”

Astarion is so still that, for a moment, Irileth frets that she has offended him with her offer. But then he leans in and his mouth grazes her ear. “Far be it from me to refuse you. Although I won’t be taking from your neck. Hold this for me, will you?”

He brushes his knuckles against her ribs and Irileth realizes that he’s talking about her shirt. Numbly, she sets the potion aside to take the fabric and starts to turn around when he pins her with a hand on her hip, holding her in place. 

Astarion’s grip is gentle but surprisingly firm. As a capable rogue who relies on agility and stealth in battle, it is easy to forget just how strong he is; Astarion has the unnatural strength of a vampire spawn, yes, but there is also lean muscle and sinew, corded tightly all along his bones. 

(Unbidden, Irileth imagines that strength turned against her. What would it take to make him hold her down?)

“What are you—”

“I can’t have you fainting on the way to camp,” Astarion explains and Irileth shivers when she feels his breath between her shoulder blades, right where the mace first struck her. “I’ll only take what has already been spilled. Well,” he pauses, and Irileth can tell he’s smirking behind her back. “Maybe just a little more than that. Is that alright?”

Irileth thinks she might black out when she understands what he’s implying. It is the easiest decision she’s ever made. “Yes.”

Astarion sighs dreamily. “Tymora’s priests only wish they were so lucky.”

And then she feels his tongue on her skin, brushing over one of the ragged punctures left by the mace. His hands tighten around her hips and Irileth bites down hard on her cheek, hiding her face in her elbow. She gasps as his lips seal over one of the cuts, sucking gently, and her body alights with ecstasy and pain in equal measure. 

“Oh.”

Irileth shakes violently when he repeats this process with another gash and Astarion pulls away, his hands petting soothingly over her waist, her hips, as he tells her to breathe. Irileth tries; her lungs quake, mind hazed with the near-agony of having her wounds reopened so soon after partially healing. Astarion presses his lips to an unmarred spot between her shoulder blades, a gesture so kind and tender, she almost tells him to stop. 

“Is it too much?” Astarion asks against her skin and the pitch of his voice has Irileth pressing her brow harder against the stone wall, her thighs clenching together. 

“No,” Irileth answers, even though it is. 

The sensation is not entirely unlike the way it feels when he drinks from her neck. The pain keeps her balanced on a knife’s edge, teetering between the bearable and the unendurable, and all of her senses feel alive, alive, alive as they focus in on the single, sacred point of contact between his mouth and her skin. And running beneath it all is the undercurrent of her desire, searing through her veins and between her legs.

She is overwhelmed. 

Astarion, to his credit, is far more considerate of her body’s limits than she is. Instead of resuming, he retreats—not far enough to cause her alarm, but enough to give her space.

“Did you reach the conclusion you’d hoped for tonight? I hope you didn’t forget the real reason why we came here,” Astarion asks as he waits for her, and—gods, is he making small talk now? There is certainly some innuendo here, though in Irileth’s state, the meaning eludes her. 

“Found a couple of ways in. There’s a cracked wall on the upper level of the courtyard. I think it leads to the rafters. Where you just were,” Irileth says raggedly, capable of little more than fragmented sentences, and she turns her head to peer over her shoulder at him. Immediately, she wishes she didn’t; Astarion is watching her with rapt attention, his chin glistening with her blood.

“You could climb through the gap,” she continues, dropping her head against her outstretched arm. Irileth exhales, trying once more to regain her composure; the sooner she pulls herself together, the sooner he can start… She doesn’t even know how to describe what he’s doing. She doesn’t care enough to try. “And pick your targets off from above.”

Astarion hums thoughtfully, his thumbs brushing over the dimples in her lower back. “Or take out the war drums.”

“Exactly.”

Astarion makes a soft sound of wonder and laughs lightly, resting his chin on top of her shoulder. “Oh, my sweet bloodthirsty friend, you have been scheming. Tell me more.”

“The barrels of alcohol outside,” she manages when Astarion squeezes her hip expectantly, urging her on. “They’re left uncovered. Unattended.”

“Hmm. We should do something about that,” he purrs into her ear and Irileth closes her eyes. “Put that little gift Nettie gave you to good use.”

Of course he remembers that. Astarion was so furious with her when she accepted the poison from the druid healer, promising to use it if she started to turn illithid. So vindictive, her spawn.

“And the Archdruid.” Irileth is babbling, hardly aware of what she’s saying anymore. She just wants Astarion to do something, to put his mouth on her back again. “He’s being held in—”

“In the northeastern corner of the temple, near the Nightwarden. Yes, I heard, darling,” Astarion quips, nosing against her cheek.  “Are you ready to continue?”

Irileth exhales. “Yes.”

Astarion bows his head once more, although still, he does not continue. Instead, he lowers his face to the side of her neck, grazing his teeth over the mostly-healed wounds he gave her days ago. “I could smell your blood from the rafters, you know. Could practically taste it. It was nearly enough to drive me mad.”

This time, Irileth can’t stop the helpless whimper that escapes her lips in response. The pain, the prospect of imminent violence, and Astarion—his simple proximity, the low tenor of his voice, the press of his lips—all of it is getting to her. Her blood is up and she is wet, afire with want.

Irileth is about to release the wall to grab his hair, insisting that he bite her if he needs to—who cares about blood loss, this is more than worth it. But Astarion moves away before she can, closing his mouth over a wound on her shoulder. His tongue swirls around the edge of it, tasting her blood, before he sucks gently, drawing more out. He repeats this process on other tears, alternating between lapping gently at her skin and coaxing more of her life’s essence onto his tongue. All the while, Irileth chews on her lip as she tries not to whine and buck beneath his touch.

(This—This! It is so much better than anything the priest could have offered her: Astarion at her back, her blood in his mouth. She meant what she said: he can have this if he wants it, whenever he wants it. Her blood, her pain, she will give it to him freely, and perhaps that is what Abdirak meant about his offerings—'an intimate and loving thing.’ )

By the time Astarion straightens and Irileth’s back is sufficiently cleared of blood, she feels as if she is floating, her pain now a dull and warm presence that throbs in her core. 

“You are…” Astarion’s voice is gravel and Irileth’s stomach dips at the sound of it. “You spoil me.”

Gods above. Irileth clears her throat as she looks over her shoulder at him. “You enjoyed that?”

“Hah. I’m surprised you even have to ask.” His breath is almost warm on the back of her neck as his nose grazes her nape. “Darling, that was a feast in every way.”

She doesn’t think he’s just flattering her. 

“Do you actually like it?” she asks through the fog, struck by a sudden pearl of, not curiosity but concern, that hardens in her throat. “The taste of blood? Or is it just something you need?”

Astarion stills, hands flexing against her hips. She watches as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth and considers her question.

“No, I don’t,” he answers at last, lifting his gaze to meet her stare, brows furrowed with thought. “Not always, at least. It’s different with every living thing. There’s animals and there’s people, and that’s like comparing plonk to wine. One you tolerate, while the other you can savor.”

“Then there’s other people,” he says slowly, voice low and breathy as he brushes his mouth against her ear, “and there’s you.”

Irileth shivers as his hands slide from her hips to her waist and his fine-boned fingers, long and dextrous, splay across her ribs. In between one breath and the next, Astarion’s tone shifts to a new, certain kind of hunger. His eyes are alluring in the firelight, glittering like so many rubies.

He murmurs, “I like you, Irileth.”

“Oh,” she utters weakly and he laughs, low and teasing.

Astarion slides his hands higher. Irileth’s rib cage expands beneath his palms, filled with her shuddering breath, and his fingertips stop just shy of grazing her breasts. “And you clearly like me too.”

Bastard.

 “The sounds you make, the way you tremble beneath my touch…”

“Astarion.” Irileth’s voice is high and reedy, and damn her, it shakes when his thumb presses into supple flesh. Her eyes flutter shut.

How cruel he can be! Irileth doesn’t want Astarion to stop—she really doesn’t want him to, but he must. 

“Yes, darling?” Astarion mouths at her cheek and his fingers caress her skin in maddening circles, never rising to where she wants them—needs them. One of his fangs grazes the tender flesh between her jaw and neck.

“Bite me.”

His lips part wider, his fangs hovering over her skin, and it takes all of Irileth’s willpower not to press herself against them, against him.

“No.”

She blinks, her heart stopping in her chest, but before she can ask why, an apology already springing to her lips, Astarion’s mouth is on her ear, her lobe trapped between his teeth. She gasps when he releases her, warmth beading where his incisors broke skin, and he collects the small droplet of blood that wells up with his tongue.

“Another night, I swear,” Astarion vows, guttural. “But for now, to have you like this—it is a dream. Tell me what you want. I promise I’ll give it to you good.”

Irileth nearly moans; she is certain he would. The slickness between her thighs only increases at the thought, but Astarion has no idea what a dangerous question he has posed: what does she want? The answer is at once easier and harder than she’d like it to be: Him. Anything. Everything.

Irileth’s mind may be in shambles, but her body remembers desire, hunger. She wants him to overwhelm her, give her something to fight against, to pin her against the shrine and hold those clever fingers in her mouth. She’s so wet she could take him now, but—

Her rabid fantasies derail with a single thought: I want you to want this too.

With tremendous effort, Irileth opens her eyes, forcing herself to meet his stare. “I…”

A loud groan cuts her off—the grind of heavy wood against stone shatters the silence of the sanctum. Instantly, Astarion presses her against the wall, his armored chest flush to her back. Irileth has to bite down on the inside of her forearm to muffle her cry as his pressure bears down on her wounds and she feels Astarion, hard against her backside. He swears under his breath, hot and low, his hips bucking once into Irileth’s before he releases her completely and turns toward the hall. 

Voices rise outside of the priest’s quarters, clamoring and eager, though it is impossible to discern a single thread of conversation with all of the echoing. Astarion wordlessly takes one of Irileth’s blades from her hips and stalks toward the gap in the wall to get a better view, shooting her a look that is clearly supposed to mean, Stay here.  

Irileth ignores him. At a dizzying speed, her desire is almost entirely extinguished by the surge of adrenaline that courses through her now. She pulls her remaining blade free and follows Astarion to where he peers around the crumbling wall.

All of the goblins that were idling around the temple proper have now clustered near a single female booyahg clad in leather hide armor adorned with bones and purple feathers. Having just entered through the front door, the goblin woman strides further into the hall, beelining toward a door set in the wall opposite of Abdirak’s room.

“Back!” the woman shouts, using a cobbled-together mace to swat at the goblin hands that reach for her pleadingly. “I told you all: no more branded blessings until morning! Now, scram!”

The woman unlocks the room, then with one final sweep of her mace, disappears inside, slamming the wooden door behind her. The two rogues silently look on until the small crowd disbands again and the goblins return, grumbling, to their posts.

Astarion turns to her, brow raised. He looks distressingly unruffled for a man who had just attempted to seduce her a few moments ago. Irileth doubts she can say the same for herself.

“I’d wager that little hag is the priestess our Sazza kept jabbering on and on about, wouldn’t you?” he asks softly, now that the sanctum has returned to its previous state of quiet inactivity.

“Priestess Gut?”

“That’s the one.”

Irileth purses her lips as she studies the way the other goblins still glance toward the booyahg’s room from time to time, as if anticipating the moment she will re-emerge once more. “I think you’re probably right.”

“Hmph.” Astarion pouts melodramatically as he eyes the door as well. “At least we know she’s real. Too bad we have to kill her tomorrow.”

Have to? Perhaps not. But will they? Highly likely. 

Then he turns his eyes back to Irileth, narrowing in on her with a single-minded focus that makes her wild heart leap into her throat. 

“Not that I wouldn’t love an audience…” Astarion reaches between them to tug her forward by the front of her belt. His gaze remains hot on her face as he resheathes her dagger, fingers lingering longer than necessary on the curve of her hip. “But we should return to camp, before we bring the entire place down on our heads or you collapse. Whichever comes first.”

With that, he releases her and returns to the table where their belongings still sit, forgotten until now. Irileth feels his sudden absence like a deluge of ice water as she watches him shoulder his bow and then hold up her armor for her, all prim and composed once more.

Hesitantly, Irileth accepts Astarion’s help to redon her leather cuirass, well aware of how her face burns as his fingers fly over her buckles, careful not to pull her straps too tight around her back. 

How quickly Astarion’s demeanor changes! Momentarily, Irileth cannot help but wonder if it was all an act, if this was just how he behaved with all of his targets, turning his seduction on and off once he had done what was required of him, like a snake shedding its skin. 

He had asked her, after all, what she wanted from him, just as he had the second time she let him feed. Was this another encore to that conversation? Was he still searching for ways to settle his debts?

But then, Astarion stands in front of her, pressing the healing potion, already opened, into her palm until she accepts it. All she can think about as she drains the bottle is the way his mouth curled against her cheek, how his hips had ground into hers. She’d felt it then, proof that he desired her at least a fraction of how she did him, and the knowledge of that makes her brain go all fuzzy, a pleasant change to its usual ache. 

“Shall we?” Astarion asks when Irileth joins him at the ingress, armed and armored once more. She nods, letting him lead the way. There will be time to analyze this later.

They leave the temple as stealthily as they entered it and when they pass down the narrow strip of land by the river, Irileth notices that all of the traps she’d passed earlier are disarmed. Astarion’s doing, she assumes. 

Astarion helps her whenever they reach an obstacle that might strain her back, his hand firm on her elbow or bracing her feet, his touch perfectly chaste. But beyond those small moments of communication, they remain silent long after they depart the ruined temple. 

Their silence is not strained, though something has certainly changed between them. Something has been changing between them; it started on the night Astarion first drank from her and has continued every moment they’ve spent together since.

When they reach Waukeen’s Rest, Shadowheart is on watch. The cleric nearly squawks when her green eyes find Irileth in the dark, moving stiffly to avoid chafing her back against her armor.

“Lady of Darkness, what happened?”

Irileth feels Astarion look toward her, expecting her to take the lead. As much as he clearly enjoyed taking charge with her back in the temple, Astarion seems content to reprise his role as a dutiful follower once more now that they are among their companions.

“Get the others,” Irileth instructs Astarion, brushing his hand from her elbow as she beckons Shadowheart to join her at the campfire. “I have a plan.”

Even with Irileth’s new information, it takes a while and a fair bit of bickering before the party settles on a satisfactory strategy for tomorrow and everyone disperses back to their bedrolls or their watch stations. Irileth is almost to her tent, set up in the corner of the courtyard, when Astarion catches up with her, grabbing the edge of her mantle before she can disappear inside. 

“A moment, my sweet.”

Astarion’s hands look like slivers of moonlight as they pass over Irileth’s blood red mantle, using it to pull her toward him until their boots nearly touch. Caught in the beam of his gaze, Irileth starts to burn anew, (had she ever stopped?) as if their sobering trek from Abdirak’s room to camp and the subsequent war council had never happened. It’s almost embarrassing, how much he affects her.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten how we were interrupted earlier, darling.” Astarion casts his voice low, placing his fingertips beneath Irileth’s chin to tilt her face up to meet his. 

For a wild moment, she thinks he’s going to kiss her. Her lips part on instinct and Astarion’s gaze darts down to her mouth to catch the movement. He smiles indulgently at her and leans in, pressing his lips to her cheek instead. 

“I do so look forward to hearing what you want from me,” Astarion whispers tenderly against the corner of her mouth, but before Irileth can turn her head, chasing his touch, he pulls away, eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“And I especially look forward to giving it to you.”

He drops his fingers from Irileth’s face, dragging the back of his knuckles along her arm until he reaches her hand. Astarion squeezes it once, slowly, and studies her through his long white lashes. Then releases her and retreats to his tent, leaving Irileth alone, blushing in the dark.

Oh, Hells.

[trickstarbrave]

the rough draft is finished. and it is. over 8500 words in length. jesus christ.

anyways i'll give tumblr a preview. i have to reread it a dozen times to proof read it before it goes to ao3 but

this is nerevar/voryn/almalexia. almalexia sees these two idiots pining and decides enough is enough, time to get them fucking. mostly nerevoryn for this reason; almalexia and nerevar are married and have sex but they arent really in love with each other. they do, however, have each other's backs and best interests at heart. oh and a side order of almalexia/vivec

also voryn is trans in this. because i can. i think its fun.

not really much of a plot. just pining and sex.

All things considered, Nerevar was quite happy with his marriage. 

Almalexia Indoril was quite a catch, he wouldn’t deny it. Not only was she incredible in battle and a delight to spar with, she was also funny, kind, and a great person to drink with. Not to mention well… 

Nerevar didn’t know if he loved her romantically. He had quite a bit of respect for her and never said no to a fun romp in the bedroom, but his heart never fluttered and raced around her. All the same, Ayem was in the exact same boat, making it clear before anything else they were political allies for life and that she didn’t care if he slept with other people or gave them his heart. And she meant it too, considering she had a whole harem to otherwise tend to her needs and had Vivec as a lover who wrote poetry about her beauty and charms and all that.

So when Almalexia asked if she could bring a third into the bedroom, Nerevar had agreed without question. It had not been the first time she’d asked, and it wouldn’t be the last. Usually it was Vivec, or someone in her harem. And, for the most part, it was usually a fun night. Ayem said it was one of her many casual flings who had agreed, but Nerevar didn’t give it much thought.

So imagine his surprise when in walked Voryn, cheeks and ears dusted red, in loose fitting robes that showed off his chest. Nerevar’s jaw was entirely slack, staring confused and equally flustered, as he quickly tried to compose himself. 

While Nerevar never got the heart racing, blood pounding, butterflies in the stomach feeling of love from Ayem, he did receive it often from Voryn. If there was one person Nerevar knew he was in love with, it was the tall, handsome lord of House Dagoth. In fact, he’d been smitten long before he was king, trying unsuccessfully to flirt with subtle hints back when he was the other’s canvasari. Of course, all of his little hints had been quickly and swiftly sidestepped, Voryn not even batting an eye. Then began the phase of his crush where he wasn’t sure if Voryn was gently rejecting him, or if he simply didn’t know. Did Voryn not want to because of the power imbalance? It was possible; they were close friends who treated each other casually rather than as a lord and guard, but Voryn might be intimately aware of the power he held over Nerevar as Nerevar’s lord and didn’t want to accidentally take advantage of him or have a conflict of interest. 

Then, when he was hortator, he tried again. Subtle hints, a light joke here and there, letting his hands linger on Voryn… Usually he could use these things to get someone into his bed with ease, but Voryn was the same as ever. He remained an impenetrable wall, either not noticing or caring, even as Nerevar admired his hands and played with his rings. Was that also a rejection? There was no power imbalance anymore but… Well, Voryn was very focused on the war, and maybe Nerevar should be as well. So he tabled his affections once again, unsure if he had been rejected or not. 

Then, Nerevar was king. Married, though the marriage was open, a fact Voryn knew. Nerevar often recounted how many Ayem took to bed, as well as a few trysts he had as well. He’d even complain about how obnoxious Vivec and Almalexia were once they entered a proper relationship, shamelessly flirting at the dinner table, and often with poetry written by Vivec so complicated Nerevar couldn’t make any sense of it but it made Ayem swoon or laugh without fail. 

And Nerevar had once again been in Kogoruhn, drinking casually with Voryn like so many times before this. Only this time he was drinking as Voryn’s equal and Resdayn was now at peace. Nerevar debated flirting once more, trying for a final time to shoot his shot. Would he be doing too much? Had Voryn in fact been trying to politely turn him down this whole time? Had he simply not noticed? Voryn didn’t strike Nerevar as the romantic type, nor had Nerevar ever seen him with any lovers. It was possible he didn’t really know how flirting usually looked…

“It’s frigid at night this time of year.” Voryn remarked, sipping his drink. “Actually, even more than previous years. The servants can’t even keep the fires stoked enough. I keep waking in the night freezing.” 

Nerevar, buzzed, decided to tease. “Y’know… It’s rarely cold when you have someone to warm your bed~” 

Voryn snorted at that. “And who, Moon and Star, would I take as a lover to warm my bed?” Voryn asked, making Nerevar nearly scream. 

“You’re the lord of House Dagoth.” Nerevar instead replied, forcing down his screams of frustration and the urge to take Voryn by those handsome, sculpted cheeks and kiss him for all he was worth. “I’m certain plenty of people would want to. For fucks sake, plenty would kill for the chance.” Nerevar knew for certain he would after all. 

“It’s easy to assume I have lovers falling into my lap due to my status,” Voryn eyed him dismissively, “And maybe that is the case for you,” Nerevar’s eyebrow twitched, as he tried very hard to keep the grip on his glass measured so he didn’t shattered it in frustration with his strength. “But you’d be mistaken.” 

“I don’t just mean your status--” Nerevar corrected, his tongue loose from the alcohol. “You’re gorgeous! You’re tall, handsome—a bit terrifying, yes--but honestly that just adds to your charms.” 

Voryn rolled his eyes, now leaning his cheek on his hand, swirling the alcohol in his glass. “No need to exaggerate, Neht.” Nerevar briefly wondered if Voryn didn’t own a mirror or something. How could he not see how attractive he was?! Sinfully painted red lips, long legs, a tall and imposing figure, ebony hair that fell in an elegant waterfall, a face sculpted by the gods… Nerevar could hardly control himself around the other chimer, yet here Voryn was saying he was exaggerating! Nerevar could have balked at the idea--he wished for a moment he was a poet like Vivec just so he could accurately describe what a gorgeous mer Voryn was. 

“I’m not exaggerating!” Nerevar insisted, one hand banging on the table between them just enough for it to be loud. “For fucks sake, even I’d be willing to climb into your bed!”

Silence then followed, Voryn staring at him bewildered and shocked. It took a few seconds for what exactly Nerevar said to sink in, and his mouth went dry. He had no intention of going so far as to just lay his feelings out on the table so boldly, and now he was sweating anxiously. Damn alcohol made him spill more than he intended once again. But--what the hell, why not? Nerevar had already tried and failed with less direct flirting. Why not just have it all out in the open? Voryn could reject him properly then; at the very least Nerevar wouldn’t be wondering for even more years if Voryn truly knew the extent of Nerevar’s feelings or not. 

So he kept his expression level, his gaze meeting Voryn’s, refusing to back down. All that was left was Voryn’s answer. 

Then, Voryn’s shocked expression cracked, the corner’s of his mouth turning up, before he quickly put his head in his hands and laughed. Hysterically, at that, nearly falling over from the sheer force of laughter. 

Ah, what else did Nerevar expect? His shoulders slumped at the rejection, before he forced a few chuckles out to save from the atmosphere getting awkward. 

“Oh Neht,” Voryn actually wiped a tear from his eye from laughing so hard, “You are too funny.” 

“Heh… Glad you think so.” Nerevar glanced away, sipping his drink. It stung like a mother fucker, of course, but it wasn’t necessarily Voryn’s fault. Voryn just found Nerevar so unattractive the idea of sleeping with him was hysterical. Okay, that made it sound worse than it actually was; likely he just thought their relationship was strictly platonic--brotherly to the point that having sex with Nerevar was just plain absurd. It wasn’t like Nerevar could demand he change his feelings and find him attractive, throw off his clothes and drag Nerevar to his bed. Maybe Voryn only liked women. Maybe he just knew Nerevar so long that the idea of romance or sex with him was awkward. 

Regardless, since then Nerevar hadn’t even bothered to flirt or inquire about Voryn’s sex life. The rejection was quick and firm--Nerevar thankful when he was sober that Voryn had only laughed rather than gotten furious with him and his drunken blunder had instead ended a lifelong friendship rather than simply embarrassed him. A bruised ego was better than losing a friendship, that was certain. If Voryn found someone that made him happy then Nerevar would give them his blessing.

Nerevar just hadn’t been expecting that the person who would eventually warm Voryn’s bed years later would be his own wife. 

But what was he going to do? Sure, he could kick up a fuss and say Voryn was off the table to bring into the bedroom, but, well… Voryn had gone along with it, hadn’t he? Ayem had invited Voryn, and Voryn--knowing full well Nerevar would be there--had agreed. Wouldn’t it just be awkward if he got upset and left right now? Voryn might think Nerevar had lingering feelings, or he’d be so insulted it would put a damper on their relationship. If Voryn was unbothered, shouldn’t Nerevar play along? 

Nerevar gave a quick glance at Ayem who flashed him a beaming smile as though nothing was the matter. He swallowed roughly, forcing himself to put on a more casual smile. 

Ayem knew she was playing with fire here, and Nerevar knew she did. She wasn’t ignorant to his feelings for the other chimer. She had made a comment that Voryn seemed to be making eyes at him while he was sparring with Vivec earlier one day, which made Nerevar now burst into laughter. He recounted exactly how he had been the one flirting with Voryn and how Voryn either ignored his passes or outright laughed him out of the room when he was more direct, so that was impossible. Maybe Voryn was just making eyes at Vivec, or a servant across the courtyard. But Voryn was not pining longingly for Nerevar, staring at him with heavy desire; if he had, that night he drunkenly confessed that he wanted to sleep with him Voryn would have taken him up on the offer. 

Nerevar did mental calculations, running through every perceived slight he might have made at Ayem to make her angry enough to do this to him. Was it because he said the last poem Vivec wrote her was nonsense? Was it because he set off one of Seht’s inventions and nearly destroyed a wall in the palace? Or was it because he ripped her favorite (and very expensive dress) a few months ago?

It was cruel, he’d give her that. Honestly, he’d prefer she just poison him or make him sleep outside in the guar pen. Or both, honestly. Whatever he had done didn’t seem worth the torture of rubbing it in his face that she was fucking Voryn and he had to keep his hands to himself. 

“Well,” Nerevar began, acting unphased to the best of his ability. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was lie and play things off. “When Ayem said she wanted to bring someone in the bedroom, I hadn’t been expecting you, Voryn.” He was trying to act casual and relaxed, despite every nerve in his body being on fire and every muscle in his body tense. He was trying very hard to keep his eyes on Voryn’s face, rather than having his gaze drift down to Voryn’s exposed chest. Already he could feel a stirring in his trousers from such a tantalizing sight; normally Voryn’s body was covered in layers of heavy fabric…

Voryn looked even more flustered at that, his ears growing more red and his brows furrowed as he glanced away. “Almalexia and I have a more… Casual relationship.” Voryn admitted. “I-it’s complicated. 

Fuck Voryn was cute like that, too flustered to even look at him, the flush spreading down even to his chest… Far cuter and more attractive than he had any right looking.

“He’s a bit of a shy lover.” Almalexia explained, her carefully manicured hand rubbing up and down his arm soothingly. “But he can be quite passionate when he really gets going.” The pointed look Almalexia gave him was just rubbing salt in the wound, and earned a twitch of Nerevar’s eyebrow that Voryn luckily missed. Nerevar was going to get his revenge for this stunt, mark his fucking words. The second this was over, he was going to think of ways to get back at her, so long as he could survive this experience without having a pining induced aneurysm. Why had Voryn even agreed to this? Ayem pressured him into it maybe? No, Voryn was usually too stubborn for that sort of thing. Gods, Nerevar hoped the two of them didn’t have a cuckolding fetish; Azura knew he wouldn’t be jealous Voryn was fucking Ayem but the other way around.

Regardless, he knew he was going to be losing a hell of a lot of his sanity tonight. Almalexia was doing Sheogorath’s work driving him fucking mad. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Nerevar asked, trying to be innocent. “If you’re too flustered you don’t have to go through with this.” Whatever game Almalexia was playing, he was hoping he could talk his way out of it. Voryn could confess to the fact she was blackmailing him or something and he could shoo Voryn off to his room to sex with Almalexia without Nerevar having to suffer through it the whole damn while. 

“I’m fine.” Voryn quickly snapped, brows furrowed more. Ah, looks like he hit a nerve then; if Voryn was very determined, trying to talk him out of it would make him enraged. 

In response, Nerevar held his hands up, laughing playfully. “Alright, alright.” Mentally though, Nerevar was swearing up a storm. He couldn’t think of any excuse to get out of this situation that wouldn’t piss both Voryn and Almalexia off, or come off like he wasn’t insulting Voryn. Instead he braced himself, mentally preparing to try and focus on his cruel, cruel wife rather than the man he was madly in love with. 

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable, Voryn?” Almalexia offered, gesturing to the bed. His movements were stiff, but he eventually moved to sit on the plush mattress, making such a sour face you would think it were a bed of nails. Off to the side Almalexia was busy undressing and getting ready, humming softly.

Normally, this was the part where Nerevar made small talk and warmed the third party (or well, multiple parties) up. He wasn’t typically shy, ready to jump in and stroke up arms, press soft kisses, whisper dirty little things in their ears. With Voryn though he had already been rejected and was terrified of crossing that boundary again. The last time Voryn had only laughed him out of the room. This time he might not be so lucky. So instead he leaned back against the pillows, equally as awkwardly, waiting for Ayem to hurry up and tell him what to do or get this started herself. 

Finally bare and with a strap and harness in hand, she made her way to the bed.

“My,” She commented to Voryn, tossing the leader harness and toy onto the bed. “You don’t look very comfortable at all.” An astute observation, one Nerevar would have snorted under normal circumstances. “Here,” Ayem put one knee on the bed, almost straddling Voryn now as one of her hands went to the tie of his robes, the other slowly trailing down his chest. “Let me help you get comfortable then…” 

When their lips connected, Nerevar felt sparks shoot up his spine, despite not being either person actually being kissed. There was just something about the way Voryn’s eyes fluttered shut, dark lashes against his cheeks, the soft and delighted groan muffled by Ayem’s lips… Voryn even arched up into her touch, letting her slip the robe off one shoulder, before his tongue came out to tangle with hers. Almalexia’s other hand pulled on the tie slowly, almost teasingly, until the knot came undone, before she pushed Voryn onto his back and began undressing him in full. 

Azura’s fucking mercy. Nerevar felt like he could barely breathe, instead only able to give out quick pants as he watched, almost mesmerized. Ayem’s hands roamed up and down his torso, across the black hair on his chest and the trail that ran down his belly to between his legs, or occasionally letting her nails graze a nipple earning a low, delighted moan that had Nerevar’s cock twitching in delight. 

It was becoming increasingly hard to pull his attention away from Voryn the more moments that passed. All the blood was flowing from his head straight to his dick, as his earlier resolve to only focus on Almalexia crumbled. She was probably doing it on purpose too--come sunrise Nerevar was going to find an excuse to go on a pilgrimage to Azura for a few weeks or months, just as a reason to get out of the palace before he did something anger he would regret. 

“Oh~” Voryn gave a breathy, desperate moan as one of Almalexia’s hands slid between his legs, just out of sight of Nerevar, but he could tell from the sounds Ayem was fingering him nice and hard, the slick sound forcing Nerevar to bite his lip. He needed to do something, he resolved quickly. He needed to do something that didn’t involve staring at the sinfully gorgeous sight of Voryn laid out bare on the bed, moaning and panting because of someone else. So he quickly got up, removing his pants and underwear to finish undressing--his shirt having been discarded long before they started--and moved behind Almalexia to run a hand through her hair. She purred appreciatively, and Nerevar resisted the urge to look over her shoulder at the tantalizing elf writhing around beneath her. Instead, he closed his eyes, pressing a few kisses on her shoulder, his erection occasionally brushing against her thigh. 

“What should I do?” He asked her, reminding himself to breathe. 

“Lay back down on the bed, for starters.” Almalexia replied playfully. 

“Mm, and let you neglect me again?” Nerevar tried to reply back equally as playfully, but it didn’t quite make the mark. He absolutely did not want to return to laying on the bed, resorted to stroking himself off while she fucked Voryn senseless. Would it be a sight sure to get him off? Absolutely. Would it make him miserable afterwards? With certainty. 

Almalexia laughed at that, before reaching one hand around to swat at him. “I won’t neglect you, I promise.” She assured him. “I am just getting Voryn warmed up. I have a position in mind just for tonight, and it involves you.” Nerevar swallowed roughly at that, but reluctantly he let go and returned to the bed. If it involved him, he assumed Voryn gave the go ahead. Was she going to be nice tonight actually? Had she persuaded Voryn enough that Voryn was actually willing to have sex with Nerevar willingly? Fuck--if so he hoped he didn’t climax the second he got inside, that would ruin the whole night and embarrass him further. 

After a bit of gentle prodding, Voryn moved off his back, and instead climbed on top of Nerevar, hovering over him on his hands and knees. Nerevar swallowed roughly, gripping the sheets under him for dear life. Voryn’s silky black hair was brushing against him, and his gorgeous lips were so close and yet so far away. If he didn’t hold onto the fabric under him he was certain to do something stupid, like grab Voryn and kiss him for all he was worth. 

Then, with the harness on properly, Almalexia came up behind Voryn and slid inside him, Nerevar watching with eyes wide as Voryn’s face twisted in pleasure as a moan escaped his throat, rumbling in his chest and his arms trembling. Nerevar then glanced down, seeing Ayem was, in fact, fucking Voryn’s cunt. Meaning Nerevar was not going to get to fuck him like this. What was the point then of Almalexia doing it from behind on top of Nerevar then? 

Nerevar grit his teeth, hissing softly as his eyes went back up to Voryn’s pleasured face. His eyes were glazed over, lips wet as moan after moan spilled from his lips, every sound reminding Nerevar just how wet Voryn was on top of him. He could practically imagine that tight, wet heat wrapped around his cock, Voryn moaning Nerevar’s name obscenely as he pounded into him for all he was worth…

Yeah, Nerevar was definitely going to need to take a pilgrimage or he was going to destroy half the palace in a fury when this was over. What horrible sin he had committed against his darling wife was currently unknown, but it certainly wasn’t fitting of the punishment. This was cruel and unusual, even for his lovely lady of mercy.

Voryn’s hands slipped and he instead balanced himself on his elbows, his face even closer to Nerevar’s. Nerevar gasped, before he bit his lip, closing his eyes. Not that it helped much, even the air tasted like Voryn, teasing him with the knowledge he couldn’t kiss him. Couldn’t touch him, not in the way he wanted to. 

But wasn’t that awkward for him? Fuck, it’s not like he didn’t know Nerevar wasn’t into him after that slip of the tongue so many years ago. If Nerevar just laid there rock hard and eyes screwed shut that would make this even weirder somehow, wouldn’t it? He didn’t have to touch Voryn sexually, he assured himself. But ignoring him and acting like he wished he was anywhere but here (as much as it was true in the moment) might only offend Voryn.

Nerevar took a breath, before cracking his eyes open and reached up to brush some hair out of Voryn’s face that was sticking to his mouth. In turn, Voryn nuzzled against his hand appreciatively, his eyes shutting once more as he moaned louder. 

“Mmm, harder~” Voryn’s voice was gorgeous like this, so deep and erotic Nerevar could climax just listening to him, he was certain of it. 

“You’re taking it so well, Voryn.” Nerevar praised him, his voice almost breathless. Shit, was that a weird thing to say? Nerevar’s eyes darted to the dip in the middle of Voryn’s lower lip that only made it look all the more plush. 

“Keep talking to me,” Voryn panted, his eyebrows drawn up. “Please…”

Nerevar was trembling hearing that, his body aching with desire. Voryn was getting off to the sound of Nerevar’s voice, that much was clear. He was getting off to Nerevar, moaning and panting at least partially from him. And with how desperate he was, that was enough to make him burn. 

“You’re being so good, aren’t you?” Nerevar defaulted to what he usually said to Almalexia’s lovers in bed, still stroking his thumb against Voryn’s cheek. His other hand let go of the sheets, sliding down to instead take his own cock in hand, stroking. “I bet it feels so good too, doesn’t it?” Nerevar sure knew it did, albeit he had different anatomy. But Ayem was pretty skilled with the strap, able to move her hips perfectly to hit all the right spots, like she was no doubt doing to Voryn right now. 

“Yes,” Voryn hissed, before arching his back, his chest pressed against Nerevar’s. Nerevar swore he could feel Voryn’s racing heart against his chest, but in all likelihood that was just his own heart running wild. “Oh gods, Nerevar~” 

His cock twitched in delight, his head going back as he gave a long, low moan himself. He could die happily now that he heard Voryn moan his name like that, he was sure of it. 

“Why don’t you tell him just how good it feels, Voryn~?” Ayem teased behind him, before grinding her hips forward. Voryn’s eyes rolled back in delight, mouth open in a sinful moan. 

“It’s--it’s too good~” Voryn moaned, his head now falling forward to rest on the nook between Nerevar’s shoulder and neck. The hot breath against his sensitive skin had him hissing and groaning, stroking himself off faster. “I--I’m so full, so full, it’s so--” 

“Fuck,” Nerevar moaned breathlessly, eyes screwed shut. His neck was too sensitive for this--Voryn’s lips were right there, every puff of hot air making him nearly shiver and keen with delight. This was worse than the time Ayem was edging him--a hundred times worse. 

“Don’t just lay there, Neht.” Nerevar could see Almalexia smirking over Voryn’s shoulder. “Touch him.” She goaded him on, making Nerevar tense up. “I’ve got my hands full holding his hips up, but his cock is nice and hard, begging for some attention.” 

Nerevar’s hand was moving on its own, as though possessed. The second she offered and Voryn didn’t correct her, his body was moving of its own accord now, leaving his cock to instead slip between Voryn’s thighs. 

He was wet. By the three, he was soaked, dripping on Nerevar’s fingers as his hips rocked from the power of Almalexia’s thrusting. After being briefly stunned with the desire to throw Almalexia off Voryn and fuck him for all he was worth, his fingers slid down to rub back and forth firmly across his dick, making Voryn moan louder, rocking his hips against his hand. 

“Nerevar~!” He was moaning so loudly into Nerevar’s neck, his own cock twitching with every cry of his name. “Nerevar--Neht--I need--Oh gods~!!” 

“That’s it,” Nerevar praised him. “Good boy, Voryn~” Nerevar was panting himself, praying to every god he didn’t come untouched. “Fuck, you’re so hard for me, nice and hard for me, so fucking wet too~” Nerevar was just babbling now, unable to think before speaking anymore. “Azura’s mercy, I want to suck your cock so badly,” Voryn moaned louder at that, “Eat you out properly, before fucking you nice and hard until you’re screaming my name~” 

Maybe, the second the passion died out and they were left awkwardly laying on the bed awkwards, he would regret saying all this. But at the moment he didn’t one bit. He couldn’t hold back in the slightest, praises and desires spilling from his mouth like a fountain. 

Luckily, it seemed all his clumsy dirty talk and touching had actually made Voryn climax. Maybe it was actually Ayem doing it, but Nerevar was more than happy to imagine it was all because of him. Voryn moaned and shuddered and even teared up a little, before he slumped onto Nerevar completely. 

Fuck, he wanted to be inside Voryn still. Should he wait until Voryn caught his breath to ask? Nerevar was content to wait at least a few moments, holding Voryn close, savoring the skin on skin contact as Voryn panted breathlessly, completely dazed from pleasure. 

And then unluckily for Nerevar, Ayem gingerly rolled Voryn over onto his back, off of Nerevar who was enjoying their little almost-embrace. Nerevar bared his teeth, snarling in a rage at such an offense, before Almalexia straddled his chest, tugging on his hair with the strap in his face. 

“Don’t growl at me you mangy little hound, or I’ll put a muzzle on you.” Normally Nerevar found such banter funny, charming, and a little bit sexy, but right now he had half a mind to throw her off him to fuck Voryn senseless. “Clean this up for me, won’t you? Then I’ll tend to your cock, Hortator.” 

He eyed the toy carefully, his mouth watering slightly. It was dwarven crafted and made from ebony, specially commissioned by Almalexia--part of a larger collection she had custom made, in fact. Honestly, Nerevar thought their underground cousins would be prudes given how dry their humor and conversation was at times, but they sure surprised him when he saw how many tools of pleasure they had personally invented. Things that vibrated, constructions that could fuck you themselves, along with so much more--some of which that scared him, honestly. 

But right now it was still wet from having just been inside Voryn--wet, warm, a complete mess… Now that Voryn wasn’t currently on top of him moaning, he realized he might not actually get the chance to go down on him like he wanted to. This was Almalexia’s consolation prize, he supposed. 

Whatever then. Nerevar reached around, grabbing her by the ass to tug her a bit closer, listening to the high pitched sound that followed. He licked at the tip first like he was blowing someone, knowing she enjoyed the show, before sliding his tongue down the side, down to the base where it was the messiest. Gods dammit, tasting Voryn’s cunt on a piece of coated ebony should not be turning him on as much as it was. Yet, he couldn’t seem to help himself, moaning softly as he made sure to clean the toy thoroughly, savoring the taste. He was going to try his damnest to commit it to memory, knowing full well he might never get a chance for this again. And he was going to use that memory many, many times. It wouldn’t be enough to make it all up to Nerevar, but it was a start.

After it was mostly clean, just to be a showboat, he moved back up to the tip, sliding his lips down to suck. Honestly, he did like using his mouth. As Almalexia (and several others) put it, his tongue was even better in the bedroom than it was in the council chambers. Not to mention he enjoyed the weight on his tongue, bobbing his head up and down, sucking messily and obscenely just because he could. 

“Good boy.” Almalexia praised him, now gripping his hair to guide his mouth off it. “I suppose I won’t have to put a muzzle on you after all~” Nerevar licked his lips, looking up at her while his cock continued to throb. Normally this was the part where Almalexia took the strap off and started riding him to make it all worthwhile now that she had her fun. And that’s what he thought was going to happen as she climbed off him, undoing the leather and tossing the harness to the side. However she then laid down beside Voryn, pulling one of Voryn’s legs up and to the side, and Nerevar felt like all the wind had been knocked out of him. 

“Clean Voryn up next?” Almalexia offered, sliding another hand down to spread him open. Voryn was still slightly breathless, looking at Nerevar wantonly. 

Nerevar didn’t need to be asked twice. He was quickly moving, sitting up to move Voryn’s legs up and open, tossing one over his shoulder, before diving in. 

Gods dammit all, tasting Voryn directly was even better. He loved every moan and whimper and cry of his name that fell out of Voryn’s mouth as he feasted like a man starved. He lapped at his lips first, moaning, before flicking his tongue back and forth across his dick. Voryn couldn’t even squirm his hips as Nerevar held him firmly, but he did grab Nerevar by the hair, trying to pull him ever closer.

“Neht~!!” Voryn was all but screaming now as he sucked around his swollen cock, flicking his tongue against the bud. His own eyes had rolled back slightly as he let Voryn grind against his face, using Nerevar’s mouth for his own pleasure. By Mephala, the fact Voryn was doing that had his own cock twitching again, dripping precum. He wanted to be inside Voryn so fucking badly he was going insane, but he needed to make Voryn climax first. He had to, not for any logical reason, just out of pure ego. He needed to make sure Voryn was cumming at least once only because of Nerevar—and while Ayem was nice enough to have him eat Voryn out, he didn’t trust that she’d actually let him fuck Voryn with how cruel she was earlier.

He slid down slightly from Voryn’s dick until he could flick his tongue inside Voryn, groaning softly the whole while as he made sure to clean him up—or tried to, anyway. Voryn was so wet Nerevar felt like he was hardly doing anything other than getting his own face dirty. He felt like he was eating an overripe persimmon; licking and sucking, sweet nectar running down his chin as he devoured it greedily, ignoring the mess it made all over his face and hands.

Back up at his cock, Nerevar teased around it now, swirling around it with just a light enough pressure it left him begging and pleading for more. If he wasn’t so busy with his mouth he would have gloated at that, honestly. That, or dirty talked Voryn to an orgasm again--made him whimper and moan at how good Nerevar felt, made him beg Nerevar to let him cum.

Nerevar could feel every tremble with every touch, the way Voryn’s thighs quivered in pleasure as he flicked his tongue against his dick, finding a rhythm Voryn liked. The heat pressed to his lips and the smell of his arousal was intoxicating, making him lose track of all other thoughts. He forgot entirely about Almalexia in this situation, about his throne, about all the times Voryn rejected him--including the one where Voryn laughed until he cried at Nerevar’s insistence that he wanted to bed the lord of House Dagoth. Instead, it felt like all he’s ever wanted in life was to be right here, between Voryn’s legs. Right here, listening to him moan and cry and sing Nerevar’s name with that gorgeous, deep and gravelly voice of his.

“Oh gods~!” Voryn moaned, his nails digging into Nerevar’s scalp, “Neht--” He gasped, desperately trying to breathe, and Nerevar could swear Voryn was sobbing in pleasure. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming, Neht--Nerevar ple--Ah~!!” Voryn was hissing and trembling more as Nerevar focused in, purposefully trying to drive him over the edge now. He didn’t bother switching things up like he did when he was trying to let it build; he kept the pace steady, not moving any slower or faster, keeping it just right until Voryn gripped him tighter and tighter, thighs pressed to Nerevar’s ears until all he could hear was muffled moaning and his own blood pumping through his ears and--

It was a loud, drawn out scream as Voryn came, the ending being choked out with sobs. After Voryn’s orgasm washed over him, Nerevar made sure he helped him ride it out with softer, gentler movements, winding him down from the peak. Voryn’s grip on his hair went slack as he laid there, boneless and panting. Nerevar finally pulled away, a bit reluctantly, wiping his face and licking his lips as he did so to take in the most sinfully gorgeous sight he has ever seen: 

Voryn was splayed out on the bed, long hair fanned out around him and no doubt starting to tangle from all the thrashing. Tears had escaped his eyes, leaving a few trails down his cheeks. His lips were wet and swollen from all the biting and moaning he had been doing, only adding to his allure further. By the three, Nerevar was surprised he didn’t come untouched just from the sight. 

“Go on,” Almalexia touched his shoulder, making him jump slightly, “Touch him.” She encouraged. He was hesitant at first still, overwhelmed by the tantalizing sight, but slowly his hands moved out to touch. He was light at first, slowly trailing one hand up his thigh, the other moving up Voryn’s stomach to his chest. 

“Azura’s mercy…” Nerevar breathed, his mouth feeling dry. Once again, Nerevar wishes he was a poet like Vivec; he lacked the words to describe how… Perfect Voryn looked, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, humming softly and arching up into his touch. He wanted to memorize every inch of his skin: the dip below his ribs as his back arched, the occasional freckle or mole he found on his golden skin, the slight angular curve of his hips, the scars under his pectorals… 

He didn’t want to just touch, he wanted to kiss him, trail his lips across his body, taste the salt on his skin and leave him covered in marks. He moved down slowly, still ready to be refused and told off, to place a few soft kisses on his collarbone. 

“Gorgeous…” Nerevar breathed against his skin. “Fucking gorgeous…” He was Azura’s champion, but despite how sacreligious it was, right in this moment Voryn was far more beautiful than his Lady of Twilight. He was as glorious as the sun, to the point Nerevar was shocked he wasn’t blinded just by looking at him. He was dazzling, leaving Nerevar fucking awe-struck as he trailed kisses and love bites across that golden flesh, all but worshipping the perfect elf under him. 

Then, Voryn wrapped a leg around Nerevar’s hips, pulling him in closer, his cock pressed against Voryn’s thigh. It twitched at the contact, dribbling more precum across his skin as Nerevar moaned low and deep in the back of his throat. 

“Make love to me, Neht…” Voryn breathed against him as he wrapped his arms around Nerevar’s shoulders, and Nerevar felt his whole world spin briefly, before every logical thought entirely left his head. 

He pressed a messy, desperate kiss to Voryn’s lips as he moved Voryn’s legs with haste, careful not to hurt him in the process as he maneuvered them into a proper position. Gods, how had he not kissed Voryn before now? He should have been when Voryn was on top of him, twinging their tongues together just like this, exploring Voryn’s mouth in full while he moaned and begged. He should have kissed him even before this night; he should have kissed him in the firelight on that trip back from Tear in the south, with all the stars lit up in the night sky, the moons measly slivers like a cat with it’s eyes barely cracked open. The night he realized he loved Voryn, he wanted so badly to kiss him just like this, to lay the young lord out on his bedroll and make sweet, sweet love to him under the moons and stars, whispering about how much he loved him. 

“Voryn,” He whispered against the other’s lips like a prayer as he positioned himself, the wet heat kissing the head of his cock.

“Neht,” Voryn whispered back, the sweetest sound to Nerevar’s ears, as he finally slid inside. 

The feeling was incomparable. His body felt like static in the best possible way, warm and fuzzy, buzzing with excitement. As cliche as it was, it felt like everything in the world fell into place the moment he slid inside Voryn, like this was where he belonged. Every moment of longing for the other chimer, every heart racing fight to the death he made it out of, every battle won and the war ended, all of it felt like it was just leading him to this; this moment where he got to have the love of his life, the man he needed more than anything. The moment he got to make love to Voryn, sweet, perfect, terrifying Voryn who held Nerevar’s heart in his hands for so many gods damn years. 

“I love you,” He mumbled, clumsily. To oblivion with logical thought, let this ruin their friendship. Let this ruin his whole damn life as a matter of fact; the common folk could come marching to demand his head on a pike, his advisors could stage a coup and murder him on his throne, the troubles rain hellfire down on all of Resdayn--anything. He would suffer any punishment just for this moment, to look into Voryn’s eyes and tell him just how much he loved him while taking his body. In a way, Voryn had a right to know; it was wrong for Nerevar not to confess at this moment, not when it felt like every little thread of fate Mephala ever wove was leading him right to this moment. “I love you, Voryn~”

Voryn’s grip on him was tighter, a few tears spilling from his eyes, before he took him by the cheeks and kissed him over and over with a fervent desperation. 

“I love you, Neht,” Voryn whispered back, just as Nerevar began thrusting. Oh gods, Voryn felt better than he ever imagined, and he had imagined it so many times before. So many nights as a guard he would be up pleasuring himself, then as a soldier fantasizing about the young lord’s body, and even as king. Many times he would have to sleep with someone on his quest to become hortator--for, well, political reasons--he would be imagining it was Voryn under him, taking him just like this. Yet never, in all of his sweetest fantasies, did he ever imagine it this sublime. Voryn was so wet he took every inch with ease, Nerevar’s hips unable to hold still as he marveled at the slick, wet heat enveloping him. 

And Voryn loved him back. Voryn, at least at this moment, loved him. Loved Nerevar. Nerevar didn’t even care if it was a lie spilling from his lips, it was more than enough. If it was a lie, it was the most beautiful lie he ever heard, one he desperately needed to believe. 

“There it is.” Almalexia laughed to the side, laying out on the bed, watching the two chimer make love with the kind of raw intensity she scarcely saw. 

In all honesty, this had been her plan from the beginning. At first she thought Nerevar was the one who didn’t want a relationship; he never inquired about Voryn’s love life and acted stiff and awkward at the prospect of him ever taking a lover, side-stepping the question entirely. Meanwhile, Voryn had ended up in her bed after a night of drinking, desperate and jealous, begging to taste Nerevar on her lips and breathe in his scent on her sheets. The hate-sex had been enjoyable, at least for a time, regardless of how wrong it probably was to be fanning the flames of his desires and only making his one sided pining worse. 

But then she teased Nerevar at the pointed looks Voryn had giving him, longing stares of pure, unbridled desire as Nerevar and Vivec exchanged spears shirtless and sweating in the courtyard, the unrelenting heat of the sun during the height of summer in Mournhold making the two pour sweat. She could practically hear Voryn’s thoughts, how he would kill just to swipe his tongue across her husband’s flesh, how he would destroy the entire kingdom just to pin him to the ground and ride his cock until the time itself ceased to be. It was humorous to think her darling husband was so clueless to his closest friend’s desires. And he laughed, shooting her down, but there was something broken in his laugh instead of the usual mirth. That same, agonizing longing flashed in his eyes as he dismissed her claims, saying he was surely ogling Vivec, or maybe even a servant across the courtyard. Almalexia, faithful and kind as she ever was, prodded him more, and Nerevar confessed that he was the one who was pining. 

“I’ve given up though. He turned me down enough times that I’d be horrible to try again.” He admitted, drinking his sujamma a little too quickly now like he was trying to drown out his sorrows. Almalexia’s jaw went slack as she heard that; she knew for a fact Voryn would never turn down Nerevar’s advances. He was so desperate for Nerevar he was content with sloppy seconds in the thought that was the closest he would ever get to fucking Nerevar. “Whoever he takes as a lover or spouse will be one lucky bastard though, that’s all I can say.”

“When exactly did you come onto him?” She asked, confused. Nerevar glanced away, ashamed.

“I’ve been flirting with him since I was his canvasari.” He admitted, unable to meet her eyes. “Even as a soldier and hortator, I was trying. Laying on the compliments, playing with his hands, asking to see him undressed…” Another long swig followed, it clear to her now he was trying to drown his sorrows in alcohol now rather than think of how much it was killing him. “Then shortly after I took the throne. He knew our marriage was open, and I teased him about how he should find a lover to keep his bed warm if nights in Kogoruhn are too cold…” He looked far off into the distance, out the window to the stars. “And, drunken idiot I was, I told him even I would warm his bed for him if he asked.” 

“And he rejected you?” 

“He laughed at me.” Nerevar’s face was red hot in embarrassment. “Hysterically, in fact. Right in my face.” Almalexia winced audibly. She couldn’t imagine what a blow to Nerevar’s pride it was, to drunkenly confess after decades of pining, only to be laughed at by the man you loved. If it had been Ayem, she would have had the mer hung for such an offense. “It’s… Fine though.” Nerevar shrugged. “It’s been years. He probably just sees me as another brother of his. I’m lucky all I got was laughed at instead of something worse.” 

It was clear though, something had to be done. Voryn had made a critical mistake not immediately taking him seriously and throwing Nerevar to his bed that winter night, but what was she going to do? Let the two of them pine for each other, too scared to confess? Voryn thought Nerevar would never love him so there was no point in a confession, and Nerevar had been laughed out of the room when he tried to by his idiotic advisor. It was going to take a third party to let them throw off their insecurities and realize the other wanted them just as badly. 

She didn’t know how to. But Vivec, her clever lover, did. 

“Have them fuck it out.” Vivec suggested, snacking on saltrice crackers while writing another poem. 

“What?” She stared at him like he grew two heads. “That will never work.” How was she even going to get them in bed together? Lock them in a room naked? They’d just sit there stiff and uncomfortable, refusing for days on end lest they offend the other party. This was a serious problem, after all, not some new crush, but a lifetime of repressed feelings on both their parts. 

“Yes it will.” Vivec insisted. “Find a reason to get them started, and they will be drawn to one another.” Another crunch followed as he devoured another cracker. “I’ve seen the looks they give each other when no one else is looking. Once the walls they’ve built start crumbling down, they won’t be able to control themselves.”

She didn’t think it would work, in all honesty. Even as she was arranging the little ménage à trois, she was certain she was going to be the one doing all the hard work while the two of them laid there stiff and awkwardly. By the three, even as they started she was certain that was going to be how it went, as she prodded Nerevar to actually touch the chimer writhing on top of him rather than lay there like he was going to be butchered alive. 

But, like her warrior-poet said, once the walls started coming down the two couldn’t seem to help themselves. Voryn fell first, moaning and begging and pleading, though he was nervous to cross an invisible line with Nerevar he couldn’t perceive. Nerevar, meanwhile, took a lot longer to finally come around but once he did he was as ravenous as a starved nix-hound. Growling, snarling, fury in his eyes when she took Voryn from him like he could have ripped out her heart and eaten it. Honestly, she thought he might start actually fighting her, wrestling her off him just so he could fuck Voryn like an animal. 

And now the two were making hot, passionate love like they were the only two people in the world, moaning and kissing, whispering confessions of love and how much they needed the other to the point it was almost dizzying. She couldn’t believe that just a few months ago the two could scarcely meet each other's eyes at a party. Now she’d be lucky if she could get Nerevar in her bed at all after this, she imagined. 

With a chuckle, she left the two lovers to enjoy themselves, putting on a robe before she retreated to Vivec’s room for the evening. 

--

When morning came, after a lengthy cuddle session with her warrior-poet curled up on her bosom, she returned to the pleasure room. Before Almalexia had even knocked she heard the sounds of moans and pleas escaping, as well as the bed creaking. 

She opened the door, taking in the sight with an amused grin. Voryn was wearing one of her harnesses, pounding into Nerevar for all he was worth. And there, sprawled out under the lord of House Dagoth, was the king of Resdaynia gripping the sheets and moaning like a whore. 

“Have the two of you been going at it all night?” She asked, one brow raised. Voryn glanced up at her briefly, his thrusting slowing, but all that earned him was a needy moan from the hortator who shifted his hips, trying to grind down on the strap. 

“Oh--Ayem,” Voryn took one of Nerevar’s muscular thighs and pushed it up higher to get deeper inside him, resuming his thrusting as Nerevar’s voice got louder, his eyes rolling back. Voryn’s other hand was stroking the king’s cock, precum dribbling out onto his belly and smearing across Voryn’s hand. “No we--we slept,” Voryn admitted, before grinding his hips forward--and the toy directly into Nerevar’s prostate if his moans and cries were anything to go off of. “Neht just wanted me to take him this morning,” Voryn leaned down at that, closer to him to speak to him directly. “Fuck you nice and hard, right Moon and Star?” 

“Yes~!!” Nerevar cried, clawing at the sheets, “Voryn!” 

“Be careful, he’s as wild as an animal when he’s turned on.” Almalexia warned him with another laugh, though she was happy to see Nerevar enjoying himself so much. 

“I’m aware.” Voryn huffed, breathless from how fast his hips were moving. “Wild like a bitch in heat, aren’t you Nerevar?” Almalexia whistled slightly at that; it didn’t take long at all for Voryn to learn Nerevar was into being degraded, now did it? How on Nirn they went this long without fucking was beyond her at this point. 

“Yes yes yes!” Nerevar cried out enthusiastically. “Oh gods, fuck fuck fuck~! Voryn~!!” 

With one last laugh, she went to shut the door. “Get cleaned up in time for lunch, you two.” They’d all missed breakfast already, and she knew how fussy Nerevar got when he was hungry. Not to mention the mess of the kitchens he’d make when he inevitably got hungry. Besides, she imagined they would need the energy for the rest of Voryn’s stay in Mournhold. 

[landinrris]

norrix prompt: preshow/prerace jitters, holding hands to calm each other down, soft kisses

Posting this entire snippet here rather than on ao3 since this is actually part of a larger thing I'm in the early stages of. Consider it a sneak preview of sorts (that happens near the end of the fic oops). In any case, Martin and Lando in the buildup to a race at some point later this season (think Austin). Lando has some healthy pre-race jitters and Martin is there to bring him back down a bit.

One thing that Martin doesn’t think he’s going to get over any time soon is just watching Lando prepare for a race. After he’s done floating around and greeting some of the guests McLaren has invited. After he’s eaten his ritualistic meal and shrugged on his fireproofs for the afternoon.

There’s probably a fairly obvious reason why he likes sitting back and watching Jon stretch and massage Lando. Maybe part of it is due to how Martin feels like he’s having an out-of-body experience in some ways. But he loves watching Lando laugh and sing along to his music. He loves watching how Lando slips into a meditative state at a certain point.

He also just loves chatting, Lando speaking with his normal cadence like he’s not being bent in half.

“What’re you gonna do if I win?” Lando pokes while Jon has one of his legs literally flat over his head. A fact that almost causes Martin to choke when he looks up from his phone. 

“In reality or in my head?” Because they are different things right now. Plus, Martin hadn’t been able to be there for Lando’s first win— had missed it by a race— so he has a few ideas in mind now.

Lando hums, letting out a quiet grunt when Jon must stretch a less-than-loose muscle. “Go on, give me your ideal outcome, and I’ll tell you if it’s too out there.” He tips his head to the side enough to fully catch Martin’s eye. There’s a genuine glint that greets him— like Lando might very well agree to whatever Martin says. He can’t help but laugh to himself.

Martin flicks his gaze up to Jon.

“Mate, as long as it’s not about your literal sex life, I don’t care what the hell you two talk about while I’m here. You should know that by now,” Jon laughs. 

In that case. “If you must know, I would sprint down to parc fermé with the team. And then I would kiss you in front of all the cameras. Everyone else gets to do it, why not us?”

Lando’s eyes somehow soften further. “Is this in a universe where we’re already out?”

Martin shakes his head. “No, it’s in this one. Just finally put the rumors to rest.”

“Well, who knows, maybe I’ll be so high on success that I’ll let you do it.” He tries to sound nonchalant, but Martin can tell Lando is actually thinking about it. He’d practically told Kym Illman to fuck off earlier, but here Lando is contemplating concretely outing them. Martin almost pushes himself out of his chair to crowd Lando against the table, Jon’s presence be damned.

“Guess you gotta win then.”

The part Martin doesn’t love as much about watching Lando get ready for a race is that he can tell when the nerves start to set in. Never too much but enough that means he’s aware of his mortality even as protected as they are. He watches as the twitch in Lando’s jaw gets a bit more defined, watches as he wipes his hands down the front of his suit more often, and swipes his hands around his neck and face while he thinks through his strategy. As the seconds tick by, Lando chews a bit more at his thumb.

They’re about to finally leave the hospitality building and cross over to the garage when Martin shoots his hand out to Lando’s shoulder to prevent him from following Jon so closely. Lando turns a questioning look on him but doesn’t pull away.

“Hang back for a second, yeah?”

He nods, Jon leaves, and then it’s just the two of them surrounded by temporary walls with a gradually growing din of noise just beyond.

“What’s up?” Lando asks first. Martin almost doesn’t hear him because he gets sidetracked watching Lando’s tongue dart to swipe at the corners of his mouth.

Martin shakes himself out of it because now is not the time. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Take a second to breathe because I know you forget to in the buildup.”

Understanding dawns on Lando’s face, and he smiles softly. He steps closer, reaching up to pluck Martin’s hand off his arm and holds it for himself. “Thank you for the reminder. Believe it or not, I still get a bit more nervous with you around than I should. You’d think I’d get over it after two years.”

“What? Really? For what?”

Lando shrugs, looking sheepish. “I don’t know. At first, it was because you were so cool, you know? Knew my name… wanted to hang out with me... Then it was because I had a stupid crush, and now I think it’s because I don’t trust myself not to do something stupid.”

“Are you saying I’m no longer cool?” Martin asks in exchange for not unpacking all of that right now. Plus, Lando doesn’t have to know he harbors his own anxieties, particularly at the race starts.

“No, you’re actually very lame, if you must know.”

Martin scoffs and pulls Lando into as tight of a hug as he dares. He fits his hands across Lando’s shoulder blades and tucks his face into Lando’s neck like they so often do. Lando only takes a few seconds to respond in kind before he’s gripping Martin’s just as tightly. The warmth of Lando’s body is overwhelming as usual, the weight of his hands comforting as they rock back and forth for a few moments.

“You’ve got this,” Martin whispers fiercely into Lando’s skin. And I’ll still kiss you if you come second or third, if you want. I think either of those will also get a big reaction from people.”

Lando gently knocks his head sideways into Martin’s and chuckles. “Don’t tempt me or I might actually do it.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

[0nemorestranger]

awhile ago i made a post about being inspired to write a fic about chrissy going on tour/a road trip with corroded coffin and a (very actually satanic) eddie munson. it got a lot more traction than i expected, so i decided to start writing it to see how it goes! i have a couple chapters under my belt. i was gonna wait until sunday to post the first one, keeping in line with the whole mockery-of-christianity thing, but i'm so excited and actually proud of this work that i wanted to share it immediately :D preview of the first chapter under the cut as well as a link to the whole chapter on ao3!

(and i'll probably be posting on sundays from here on out)

Not this shit again!

It started at The Hideout, the feeling of vague un-selfness that came with the fog of rank cigarette smoke and cheap weed. Though the crowd was small, there were numerous puddles on the floor. Was it beer? Urine? She’d never been in this kind of bar before; only sat on a stool at the country club while her parents schmoozed with the other insufferable locals. She hadn’t ordered a drink, not even a water. Here she didn’t drink anything either. Not because she wasn’t thirsty – on the contrary; her mouth seemed to get more cottony, more sandy with each song. But it was smarter for her not to drink anything this late at night. Even if she could feel her skin protesting with an excess amount of oil.

Eddie didn’t look at home up there, on what could only loosely be called a stage. He didn’t look at home because he didn’t carry himself any other way than he carried himself at school: loose, loud, looking for a good time. Creating it himself if he couldn’t find one.

This outburst made him look out into the crowd for the first time. He hadn’t even had to look for her: brushing his hair out of his face, their eyes locked right away. Was it the stage lights that caused the glint in his eye to be so pronounced? Whatever it was, there was no second-guessing the cause for the smile spreading across his face. It was big and toothy, taking her back to their first encounter in the woods. “You came.” He slung his guitar over his shoulder just in time to catch her as she raced into his arms. It wasn’t anything near a run, nothing graceful like when she could do a backhand spring and land perfectly in the arms of her cheerleader friends. Nothing like that would ever happen again, but for the first time since her near-death experience something like that was far from her mind, replaced by the warmth of him as his arms enveloped her, the sharper, more concentrated smell of what she’d been inhaling since she stepped into the place. He whispered into her ear. Murmurs about how good she looked, how glad he was that she was up and walking around, how he hoped he’d put on a good show for her. It was so sweet, his breath moving her hair just a bit, the ghosting tickle of it on her cheek. When he screamed again, it made her jump: Fuck you, Ray!

read the rest on ao3!