#magically had a skin details glow up!!!!

[peacefulsimming]

gavin invited ingrid on a second date to the flea market!

[lowkeyerror]

Always There

Agatha Harkness x Vampire!Reader x Rio Vidal

Word count: 4.9k

Notes: Non-major character death, depictions of violence, graphic violent content (blood, mob violence/torture, detailed wounds), angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, small mention of suicial tendencies, italics=past

Summary: Vampire reader has had a casual relationship with Agatha and Rio, but eventually too many years pass since their last encounter, the vampire starts to wonder if they still cared for her.

An: Posting this immediately after I finished writing it. Hope you enjoy. Likes, replies, reblogs, and all of that are appreciated 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ Edit: Not me saying itallics and forgetting to actually put them lol

Masterlist

You’ve had a casual fling with Agatha and Rio for as long as you can recall. There’s a stereotype about witches coming and going as they please, and you find it to be frustratingly true.

It's easier to get ahold of Rio than Agatha, which is ironic considering that Rio is literally Death. With the title comes the job, so all you truly needed to get a glimpse of her was a body. Perhaps you could arrange the carcasses in a way that said ‘stay with me forever’.

As a vampire, you had time to wait. There was no rush, which is how you believe things got so casual. You could never forget how you met the pair.

At the time angry mobs were running rampant, looking for anyone to persecute. You were a known vampire living not to far from a village. They hunted you for sport. There were many of them that you killed, but eventually they were able to ambush you. When they did, they used wooden spikes to pin you to a large ‘X’ that they built. The scars from were they impaled your flesh still present today.

They tortured you; punching, spitting, stabbing, you had eventually lost track of time after a few hours. The need for blood weakening you enough to where breaking free was nearly impossible.

They’d come in shifts for the torture and leave only one person to watch you in the night. That was their only flaw. You didn’t expect anyone outside of the village to come across you, but someone did.

Your head was hung low, when you heard the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground. You raised it slightly, to see the guard that was supposed to be watching you, dead on the floor.

“You don’t look too well.”

It had been days since you had tried to speak, so your voice was hoarse, “I wouldn’t think so.”

“What are you? Only someone different, is worth all of this trouble,” a different voice spoke.

Your eyes look to where the voices are coming from, but you only see shadows. Your tongue is dry as it passes over your bloody chapped lips.

“Vampire,” you mumbled.

“Help me get her down.”

When they approached, you finally got a good look at them. You couldn’t help but stare at their features. Both youthful with rosy cheeks. Rio’s large brown eyes caught your attention immediately, warm yet hiding something. Agatha’s features were sharper, her cheekbones, her jawline, even her eyes.

“This will hurt,” Rio examined the wood embedded into your skin.

“I know,” you spoke weakly.

You expected them to pull the spikes out with their hands. Instead your eyebrows furrowed when purple and green tendrils of magic worked around the spikes. Instead of 4, painfully slow, agonizing moments, there was only one rough pull, before your body fell off of the ‘X’. Only your knees hit ground as Agatha and Rio held up the rest of your body.

Your full weight pushed against them as your head rested in between their shoulders, “Thank you.”

“Hungry?”

Your eyes glowed a dim red, “I could drain a village.”

“Bloodthirsty, even in this state?” Agatha teased.

“Especially in this state,” you corrected.

You could hardly move, but you attempted to stand on your unstable legs. You grunted in pain as you put one foot in front of the other. Your focus was on the dead guard. His heart was no longer beating, but blood still filled his veins. It was calling to you, it had been too long since you had fed.

Your fangs snack into the man’s neck viciously. You had no remorse for the corpse as his body began to lose color as you drank. He wasn’t a large man, which was unfortunate, but he sufficed for the moment.

Harsh breaths and clearing of your throat, were indicators of how much you needed that. You wiped the blood off of your mouth with the back of your hand.

Your wounds were slowly closing, but it was taking all of the energy you had just gained.

“I can heal you faster,” Rio said tentatively grabbing your forearm.

She extended it so that it’s flat, before quickly running her tongue over the spot. You looked at her as if she was crazy, but then back at your wrist. The hole from the stake was gone, in its place was only a scar.

If you had a pulse, you were sure that it would be beating wildly.

You glanced at Agatha, who watched on, “Do you do that too?”

She shook her head, “Earth witch specialty.”

“How long did they have you like that?” Rio’s eyes have examined your body, noticing the extensive damage. Her finger trailed one of the nastier slashes across your stomach.

“I don't recall,” you spoke honestly.

Rio was careful as she healed the larger wounds on your body, you told her not to worry about the less significant ones. Even when she was done you were still caked in dirt and mostly your own blood.

“Let me help you out doll,” Agatha waved her fingers swiftly, and soon you were clean as a whistle.

Your tattered clothes replaced as if they were new, dirt and blood alike removed from your body. Ugly scars, now covered except for the few that littered your face.

“Why help me? We are only strangers, I don’t even know your names.”

“Abominations to humanity must stick together lest we want them to wipe every one of us out . You can call me Rio.”

“Agatha Harkness, pleasure to save you beautiful.”

One of your eyebrows raised, “Witch killer, Agatha Harkness?”

The woman chuckled, “I see my reputation supersedes my community. Does my aura scare you…”

“Y/n, and it does not. There are no rules when it comes to preservation of self. I’ve killed my own kind for good reasons and some not so good reasons. Bodies just seem to pile up when I’m around.”

“That why they nail you up like that?” Rio questioned.

You shrugged, “I suppose, a mixture of that and fear.”

“People fear death,” she spoke.

You shook your head as you corrected her, “Mortals fear death. I know people who are thousands of years old, who run from ailments of morality. They are foolish, death cannot be outran. Though it may take longer for her to come, she will eventually get all of us.”

“You aren’t afraid to die?” Agatha questioned you.

“No, there’s no point. She’ll come for me when it’s my time, but until then what is there to fear besides a wasted life.”

Rio had a small smile on her face, “Quite the philosophy you’ve fostered. Just one question, if you feel that way, then why kill anyone in the first place?”

It was your turn to chuckle, “If someone was meant to live, they simply would. I’m not stealing life, simply gifting death to those who have decided that it is their time.”

“How do you know that they’ve decided?” Agatha counters.

“Well you see, many people are weary of vampires and they should be. They let their guard down, they get comfortable, they play with their food instead of finishing the job. Those actions have consequences and I like to deal with those consequences personally. So I suppose when they choose to wrong me, they’ve chosen to die.”

“And the villagers who did this to you?” Rio pondered aloud.

You eyed her cautiously, “Do you stand to stop me?”

Rio shook her head, “I keep a witch killer in my company, you think I’m above a rightfully earned massacre?”

“Well you spoke of solidarity amongst-”

“Think of it this way, we can do what we want amongst each other, as it is our business. The humans have no right, to do what we do.”

You nod, “I agree.”

“So, you’re going to destroy the village?” Agatha questioned.

“My goal is to drain every last one.”

After that first encounter you were drunk on the thought alone of Agatha and Rio. Finding out Rio's true identity only made you lust for her even more. You knew that both had bonded with each other in ways you hadn’t understood, but that didn't stop your feelings from developing.

It didn't take long for them to fold you into their relationship, at least partially. They weren’t always around, but when they were everything seemed to fall back into place.

However, you’d be lying if you said you hadn't been getting restless these last few years. It was feeling like you saw less of them, especially Agatha. It felt like a game of cat and mouse. Somehow you had ended up chasing after them.

Tonight you walk the streets bored, part of you looking for trouble. Rumblings of new age vampire hunters in the area had piqued your interest. So you’d have a chance to have some fun or at minimum find your next meal.

Your fingers play with the rings they had gifted you, centuries ago. In the past you could feel both of them signaling you through the jewelry. It was a faint buzz, something like a hum, through the ring. A feeling that you hadn’t felt in ages. You longed to feel it again, to feel them.

Alleyways didn’t scare you, hardly anything scared you these days. Yet as you take a step into this alley, you sense something immediately. You feel eyes on you, as you walk.

“Has anyone ever told you to be mindful of where you settle demon?”

You continue walking, the empty threat meant nothing to you.

“I know what you are, I can smell it on you,” the voice echoes against the walls.

Your ears twitch, and soon you’re holding a frail man against one of the concrete walls in the alley.

“If you know what I am, you should be more mindful of how you approach me,” your strength speaks for itself.

You don’t give him the pleasure of seeing your fangs or glowing red eyes.

“Ah, you’re one of the older ones. This will be quite fun,” he says gleefully.

“What are you-" the question dies on your lips as you feel a needle being jabbed into your neck.

Your hand instinctively shoots over the spot, and your growl in frustration. You drop the man against the wall, turning your attention to the person who stuck you from behind with the needle.

This man was much bigger than the other. He was about twice your size, but it did not matter. You bare your fangs, hissing at the muscular man.

“Why isn’t she dropping?” He yells, fear laced through his voice.

You take the moment to pounce on him. Your teeth wasting no time, sinking into his neck. The man convulses under you, but you’re stronger than him. Even when he grabs your neck you don’t relent.

“Impossible,” the frail man, whispers from his spot against the wall.

“Nice try, but-”

The sensation hits you like a truck. You feel your vision get blurry and your muscles weaken. You blink a few times trying to will yourself against the late acting sedative.

The frail man nods excessively as you begin to lose consciousness, “Slower than usual, but captured nonetheless.”

You’re jolted back into consciousness when you feel the stake being driven into your skin. You attempt to shoot out of whatever position you are in, but it only causes you a familiar pain. Unlike the first time you were nailed to something, this time it was straight up rather than ‘X’ formation. Your arms hung up straight above your head and your feet were slightly spread underneath.

One spike was used to pierce both of your hands in place while you had one for each foot. Your breathing only quickens even more upon noticing you are in a forest. This couldn’t be happening.

“Glad you could finally join us,” the frail man from earlier want alone this time. He had a group of people with him.

“Let me go, and I’ll consider sparing you one I'm free,” you say, yet no one moves.

“You hold no power here, demon,” the man walks around you. “I am doctor Helsing, you may be familiar with my ancestors.”

Your jaw twitches, “ Van Helsing.”

He chuckles, “What a smart creature you are?”

“What do you want from me?”

His chuckle turns into a boisterous laughter, “ You can't offer me anything that I don't have the ability to take.”

You glare at the people in front of you, eyes turning a vicious shade of red, “The last group of people that tried something like this, paid for their sins with their lives. I hope you’re prepared to do the same.”

“They did quite a number on you, I can tell by your markings. Their only mistake was letting such a beautiful thing like you go,” Helsing says, his hand sliding across the scar on your abdomen.

“They didn’t let me go. I got out.”

His eyes had a glint as he leaned in, “And then you killed them all, how sad.”

He stabs you in the scar. Carving harder and deeper than the previous person. You grunt, but try to steel yourself under the knife. Yet you squirm finding the sensation to be more unpleasant than you had recalled.

“Silver cuts a little different doesn’t it?” He says watching the cut pour blood.

“You’re going to regret this.”

He turns his attention to the people, “Empty threats mean nothing when a beast is tied up. Would anyone else like a turn?”

People in his crowd begin to circle around you. Some with weapons, others cracking their knuckles. You're being attacked from all sides. The pain makes you tear up, but you avoid crying.

Instead you left out a bitter laugh, “That’s all you’ve got. Come on if you're gong to torture me at least put some passion behind it.”

“Oh, we’re just getting started. I want to hear you beg for your life, I want to see you broken, beaten, defeated. I want you to ask for death and then I'll award it to you.”

You spit at Helsing, “I’m not scared of death.”

He wipes your spit off of his face, a scowl now present, “For centuries my family has been driving your species to extinction. The failures may eclipse the successes, but don't think that we were never successful. You will fall at the hands of Van Helsing, creature.”

He has a device in his hand, he shoves it into your mouth. It forces your mouth open and your fangs out. He stares at them in awe. You try to clamp your mouth shut or retract your fangs, but you are unable to. You start to panic.

“Just like a snake, de-fang the vampire and a lot of that fear is gone,” his smile is sadistic.

You feel your adrenaline sky rocket as you shake violently. Your eyes wide in terror. The wood stake ripping your skin, but the pain was nothing akin to the fright.

You don’t remember the last time you were truly this scared.

He laughs and some of the crowd laugh along with him, “Are you afraid now, demon?”

Tears fall from your eyes and he coos. You flinch at his hand touching your face. His fingers were rough and callused against the swollen skin. You move your head as if to attack him and he stumbles back.

He grabs your jaw roughly, “This is the power of man.”

“Looks like someone is having a party and forgot to invite us.”

You know that voice. It makes you close your eyes in relief. The panic you felt in the moment begins to dissipate.

Everyone looks to the sky following the sound of the voice. It’s there that they see Agatha and Rio floating in the sky. Most of the crowd has their mouths agape, not believing what they are seeing.

“Should we offer them mercy, Agatha? Maybe our invites got lost in the mail?”

“This matter does not concern you foul wenches, be gone,” Helsing says, his voice trembles a bit at the end.

It’s Agatha that cackles looking down at the man, “See that’s where your wrong because…”

Rio appears behind the man, her skeletal form on her face, “If it concerns her, then it concerns us.”

Her dagger lays on his neck and he looses his composure.

“Anyone want to be brave?” Agatha questions the crowd, who screams when she shoots her magic at a nearby tree exploding it.

“What happened? A second ago you were lining up to torture her, but now you’re scared,” Rio adds pressure to her dagger.

“Don’t get shy now, doctor. Nothing to say?” Agatha gets closer to him.

The group tries to scatter but she traps them in a circle full of fire. They’re forced to gather close to each other. Their screams make you smile.

Agatha pulls the device out of your mouth carefully. Her hand caresses your face gently. You lean into her touch.

“We have to stop meeting like this doll,” Agatha mumbles only for you to hear.

“We wouldn’t have to meet again if you stopped leaving,” you shoot back.

Agatha casts her gaze away from you and over to Helsing. She and Rio switch places. The Green Witch, uses her vines to pull the spikes out of your body. It’s a feeling that never gets easier to experience.

You land on your feet ignoring the burning sensation. With your back tall you walk over to Helsing. You crouch in front of him, despite your own agony.

You hold his eyes, “Funny, I recall you telling me I’d beg for death. Well now she’s here for me, just not in the way you expected is it?”

Rio wiggles her fingers at the doctor, “I loved dragging the souls of your family to eternal damnation, can’t wait to reunite you with them.”

“Humans are all the same, always playing with food that’s not yours,” you stand towering over the man.

“Hey I like to play with my food,” Agatha pouts.

You smile, “When you have power you can do what you want.”

You open your hand and Rio drops her dagger into your grasp. The crowd watches in panic behind the flames as you approach the man.

“However, I’ve never been one to play with my food,” in a swift motion you slit his throat.

The gasps and screams of his followers sounds like music to your ears. He gargles his own blood reaching for his neck.

“Your blood isn’t worth drinking,” you watch as he collapses. You turn to address the crowd, “None of you have worthy blood. Cowards, followers, miscreants, I hope it was worth it. The price is your life, now burn.”

Agatha waves her hand dismissively and the crowd of people are quickly evaporated. Ash and burnt grass the only remnants of the aggressors.

Upon their destruction you crumble to the floor. Your body screaming at you for the abuse you endured.

Rio starts with the wound on your stomach before healing the spiked points. Your body still aches when she’s finished, but it’s substantially less than before.

“Déjà vu isn’t it bunny?” Agatha opens the floor for conversation.

“Now isn’t the time Agatha,” Rio scolds the woman, who raises her hands in defense.

“I was just reminiscing, is that a crime?”

You stand, “Well, good seeing you. Same time… in the next few centuries or…”

“You’re hurt,” Rio argues.

“You healed me enough,” you shrug.

Agatha rolls her eyes, “What’s with the attitude princess?”

You place a hand on your hip, “When was the last time we saw each other, Agatha? Rio, you only come when I leave bodies in my wake. So sorry if I’m not thrilled it takes me being captured and tortured to get some time together.”

“It’s always been this way,” Agatha argues back.

Your voice takes on an uncharacteristically soft tone, “I know and I’m tired. I don’t want whatever this is. I need something more, something tangible. It’s fine if you don't want to give that to me, but I can't keep waiting.”

You try to keep calm as you pull the rings off of your fingers, hand out stretched to give them back to their original owners.

“Y/n…”

“Take them… please. Free me, from whatever this is. I’m grateful that you saved me on our first day and maybe the same thing happening again is fate telling me that this is our last day,” you get the courage to look at them with teary eyes.

“You don't even believe in fate,” Agatha tries to reason with you.

“How would you know, you haven't been around. Things change, people change,” you tell her.

Agatha looks to Rio for help, but The Green Witch, just keeps her eyes on you.

“That’s bullshit! If change is so real, how’d we end up right back where we started hmm? Poor little hung up bat, in need of saving and here we are like always,” Agatha’s theatrics peak through her words.

“Like always?” You repeat, in disbelief.

“Look sweetheart, I know that-"

You ball your fists at your side, “What could you possibly know Agatha? Tell me, I’m interested in hearing. Did you know I spend all my time waiting for either of you to tell me if you want me or not? I don’t sleep, I just think and think and think about finding a way to end it all without having to see either of you. Hard to kill yourself with Death keeping tabs on you, even without a heartbeat. I knew this guy was tracking me, I knew what he wanted to do, and I said fuck it. I don’t care, what’s there to live for anyway?”

“You can't be serious?” Rio doesn’t want to believe what you’re saying.

“Of course I’m serious, part of me thought that after all these years humans would be over torture, but that was foolish of me. Why would I think that you'd come to save me? I still don’t understand why you did.”

“Because we love you, you fucking idiot!” Agatha shouts at you.

You scoff, “Do you really? I couldn’t tell by the hundreds of years apart.”

“We were protecting you,” Agatha gets in your space.

“What could have possibly been protecting me? Oh no, a loving and caring environment? How ever could I have managed such domestic delights and pleasures,” your voice drips sarcasm.

“You do realize that Rio is Death, right? Her job is literally to reap souls, you aren’t the only one that doesn’t get to see her often. And me… I’m all trouble, doll. There’s not a pleasant bone in my body.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, “Did you forget who I am? Have you had a head trauma recently, or maybe you need a refresher? I’m not the greatest either, cupcake. I just slit a man’s throat and had his followers executed.”

“By me,” Agatha points out.

“Ok and you want credit for the villages I killed too? The vampires I murdered? The people I lied to? The whores I fucked? I’m not some sweet innocent thing you picked up off of the side of the road. My ledger has had blood on it since before you killed your original coven.”

Your eyes are red as they stare into her blue ones.

“We were scared,” Rio interrupts the rising tensions between you and Agatha.

“Scared of what?” You glance at her.

“Of committing to you. Hell, Agatha and I can’t even fully commit to each other. This game of cat and mouse, it’s all we know. You’re right, you deserve more, so much more, but we don’t know how to give it. We don’t know what a domestic life looks like, we aren’t domestic people. I didn't think there would be any doubt in your head that we loved you, and maybe that just shows how fucked up we really are,” Rio monologues.

Her words hit you harshly. They make you want to start crying all over again. You cast your gaze to the floor.

“I guess that brings us back to the original point then, doesn’t it? Maybe it’s better if we just, end it here,” you can’t look at them.

“If that’s what you want?” Rio nods solemnly.

Agatha looks between the two of you, “Are you two stupid or something? You have to be if you think I’m just going to agree to this.”

“Agatha-”

“Don’t. I love you, both of you. I don’t want this to end and if that means changing the way things operate, then I guess things just have to change,” Agatha speaks seriously.

“What are yo-”

You startle when Agatha grabs your hands in both of hers. Her eyes locking fiercely onto yours. She doesn’t blink as she speaks, “Move in with me.”

“What?”

“You want time together, we can have time together. We’ve basically been together for centuries, come live with me.”

“Agatha, I think you've lost the plot,” Rio says, cautiously.

“You too Dr. Green Thumb. Let’s all move in together,” Agatha nods her head.

“That doesn’t fix everything,” you focus on her hands over yours.

She doesn’t hesitate to raise her hands to cup your face, “There’s obviously a lot to fix, but you can’t tell me this isn’t a step in the right direction. Y/n, I don’t want to- I can’t lose you. I’m not willing to let you go without a fight.”

Your face heats in her hands. Her eyes are ablaze with passion as they keep contact with yours.

You sigh and rest your forehead against hers, “I don’t know Agatha.”

Rio joins the moment, carefully wrapping her arms around your torso, “I don’t think any of us really know, but I think we’re supposed to find out together.”

“Please,” Agatha’s breath hits your lips. “Just a chance to make up for lost time. If it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t, but please don’t give up on us yet.”

Hearing Agatha beg like this tugs at your heart. You don’t want to give in this easily, but you’ve already wasted so much time.

“Ok.”

As the word falls from your lips, Agatha surges forward. You can recall the last time her lips were on yours. The warmth that they were able to send through your body. How firm she was in her kiss, not scared or uncertain as your lips moved together. She knew what she wanted and it was hard to picture a world in which she’d kiss someone she wasn’t interested in the way she was kissing you. You were the one she wanted.

Your legs grow weak, but Rio holds you steady. Her shifting grip, makes you turn to face her. Unlike Agatha she hesitates. She takes a moment to admire your features, she wasn’t in a rush. Neither were you. Rio’s kiss is softer than Agatha’s, her plush lips, move experimentally against yours. It’s not like she’s forgotten, more like she’s re-exploring. She's playful, as her teeth nibble on your bottom lip. You laugh at the sensation.

Rio rests her head on your shoulder. She extends her hands, motioning for the other witch to get closer. Agatha wraps her arms around the both of you. Her front to your back while her hands rest on Rio’s back. You’re encased by them, a feeling that is welcomed yet foreign to you.

“Promise that you'll keep me close” you say to both of them.

“Until the road ends, my love,” Agatha kisses the top of your head.

“I’ll hold you even after the road ends,” Rio kisses the base of your neck.

“Do you always have to one up me?” Agatha says to Rio.

Rio chuckles, “Sounds like a skill issue sweetheart.”

“Oh, we’ll see who has a skill issue later, when you’re begging me for help because my fingers are longer than yours,” Agatha says smugly.

Rio pulls back from you to glare at Agatha, “If you don’t want to ‘help’ me, I’ll just ask Y/n. Isn’t that right sweetheart?”

You blush at the innuendo.

“Nuh uh, bunny. I think I recall you liking my treats better, because someone has a skill issue,” Agatha sticks her tongue at Rio.

You turn an even deeper shade of red.

“You can never let an emotional moment be,” Rio says.

“Well you’re always trying to out ‘emotional’ me,” Agatha replies.

“It’s not my fault you’re not as smooth as me, mi vida,” Rio counters again.

Agatha throws her hands up, “I know Spanish and Latin too, you’re not special Vidal.”

Rio raises an eyebrow, “And who taught you?”

The back and forth makes you laugh, “Are you sure you don’t do domestic, because you bicker like an old married couple?”

They both huff at your statement.

“We’ll continue this at home,” Agatha points at Rio.

The brown eyed woman puts her hand over her heart in faux-fear, “Oooo, I’m terrified.”

Agatha opens a portal to her house and both women step through. Not stopping their bickering for a second. You smile as you watch them, feeling hopeful for the first time in a long time.

“The portal isn’t going to stay open forever, bunny, come on,” Agatha reaches her hand to pull you through.

You take it, stepping into your new beginning.

[malleleothreesome]

Azul Ashengrotto x afab Reader - Aphrodisiac + Breeding

💜 summary: After an alchemy accident, you and Azul end up covered in an aphrodisiac potion ༶༶༶ 💜 warnings: afab reader, smut, LOTS OF BREEDING KINK, pregnancy mention, porn with plot??? ༶༶༶ 💜 word count: 8.4k words I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED ༶༶༶ 💜 song: Vapor - 5 Seconds of Summer "I wanna feel you in my veins I want to breathe you in like a vapor I want to be the one you remember I want to feel your love like the weather, all over me" ༶༶༶ 💜 inspired by: this ask thank you! ♡✧*:･ﾟ

As a magicless human, Alchemy had always been your favorite class at Night Raven College. Despite lacking an innate aptitude for spell-casting, mixing and crafting potions was an artform that didn't require magic in order to bring spectacular effects into the world. Alchemy classes provided a refuge—a safe space with no barrier for entry where you could excel instead of feeling singled out for being an oddity in a sea of talented mages. You relished in the opportunity to learn about new components and elements, excitedly observing as volatile chemicals bubbled in heated pots to produce glowing, glittery pastes.

Much to your suspicion, Azul had always been particularly enthused to help you with potions, boasting how he was the most adept in the class due to his academic proficiencies, and that he was certain you'd find success with his aid. He took special interest in mentoring you, watching your delicate, nimble movements as you worked, walking you through procedures and detailed steps, and speaking knowledgeably about the ingredients in a tone that oozed expertise. His tutelage had helped you reach impressive grades on even the most challenging assignments. It wasn’t long before you found yourself spellbound by his charming intellect, deceivingly sweet demeanor, and the addictively intense gaze of his unique blue eyes.

There was always a subtle mischief hidden behind the smiling eyes and the easy charisma that suggested an ulterior motive lurking beneath his silver-tongue. Based on your observations of his interactions with other students, you assumed this was a ploy in hopes that if you had taste of the sweet, intoxicating elixir of power and success, you'd become desperate for more of his help, consequentially making you subservient and open to the idea of contracting yourself to him. In defiance of your paranoia that his motivations are not entirely altruistic, you did always feel an odd prickle in the air when he stood right behind you to monitor your actions. That sensation, a fiery buzz that hummed in your lower abdomen, always gave your heart flutters and kept you on edge as Azul's calm breaths ghosted against your hair and sent ripples of warm pleasure tingling through you. Your breath hitched in your throat as his large, gloved palms gently guided you through your motions, brushing over the bare skin on your knuckles or arms, leaving electric jolts where you felt his warmth. He smelled crisp like ocean breeze, an inviting fragrance that enveloped your mind and wrenched you out of reality and into his heady fantasy—a scene in which all you can taste are the thick, sweet notes of his dark intentions, and all you could do was choke on his cloying, dominating allure. He didn't ask permission to touch you or indicate an appropriate method to teach—no, his hands simply snaked around your waist and ran along your curves, slowly learning the feeling of your soft flesh through his gloves. Each time, you couldn't help but sink a little closer to his chest, instinctively chasing the seductive ambience radiating off of him, drowning in his captivating presence as though he was the tide pulling you under. There was no denying it—you wanted more of him.

Today's lab was no different, the air was tense and thick with charged attraction, filled with sexual tension so palpable it could be cut with a knife. The assignment was to experimentally combine various liquids, mixing and adjusting for better consistency, until you found a formula to concoct a viable, bountiful healing potion that would greatly ease the effects of injury. This assignment was a notoriously difficult, energy-draining procedure that required extreme vigilance to avoid an adverse chemical reaction that would result in a completely different type of potion, although Crewel didn’t elaborate on the exact details. After carefully pouring two compounds—one a milky white, and the other a vivid magenta—into a tall, cylindrical flask, Azul cautiously peered over your shoulder to check your concoction's progress as you stirred them. With one arm outstretched against the table to secure a good vantage point, he rested his other on your waist and leaned in closer as he studied the bubbling pink mixture. After adding an infusion of ground powder, a burst of sparkles clouded the interior of the flask, a telltale sign you were on the right track. This is the portion of the experiment where you needed to take extra caution to mix the elements together in perfect precision without faltering or taking your eyes away from your project, a delicate operation requiring the utmost concentration. Suddenly, Grim barges in and jumps on the lab station in excitement, yapping about how he wants to help, despite you and Azul explaining multiple times he has a proven history of destroying your projects.

The moment the little cat-monster attempts to extend his claws into your precious potion, Azul reacts automatically with surprising speed, his hands fly in a frenzy to scoop Grim away from your chemistry equipment. "Get off that this instant, Grim! You have no business here! Get your little paws out of that glassware this instant before you ruin another assignment! Do not interrupt us! Get away from there immediately!" Azul scolds him repeatedly while chasing him around the room, attempting to steer him to the door. "Why you foolish beast! You're far more of a liability than an asset! This experiment requires extreme care and concentration to avoid failure—a common result of your erratic, clumsy behavior!" His expression hardens with anger, eyebrows drawing into a line as Grim hisses defiantly. The little monster still hasn't relented, his hind legs clumsily scrabbling and slipping in Azul's grip as he tries desperately to cling onto the edge of the lab table, hoping for a quick paw-hold. A heavy, frustrated sigh escapes Azul's nostrils, his face morphing into one of desperation, pleading with the troublesome cat-creature to just leave you to focus your project in peace.

"How very annoying... To think he would willingly place himself in danger without even stopping to consider the consequences... what a foolish and irresponsible creature," he exhales irritably, struggling to wrestle Grim from his precarious position as his composure begins to slip, agitation creeping through his voice and shattering his typical polished and suave illusion of unflappable equanimity. He continues to scold Grim as he chases him around your station, gritting his teeth and losing his cool as the monster's cries of distress and denial ring through the entire room. Grim is an unrelenting little bastard who won't quit squirming. There isn't the slightest semblance of remorse or pity on his stupid, feline face, and Azul feels his resolve crack as he becomes utterly fed up with this spoiled brat's behavior. Grim continues to kick and howl his way through Azul's grip, determined to aid with your Alchemy project, but his clumsy movements start causing your potion to bubble and ripple in an unsettling manner. You shriek his name, begging him to just settle the hell down and be a team player.

It happens in a matter of seconds—a fizzling sound grabs your attention. You turn back around quickly and notice your reaction beginning to froth violently. Your eyes widen in horror and your mouth drops in disbelief. Azul notices your fear-wide eyes and immediately stops his futile efforts to reprimand Grim. In an instant, his gaze reflects the alarm in yours and the blood drains from his already pale cheeks. Grim runs out in a screaming huff as he exits in a frenzied flurry, knowing when to take a hint and make a clean getaway. At this point, the compound is pouring heavily from the top of the flask, spewing out onto the heating device and coating the table below. The chemical reaction is completely beyond your control now, its speed increasing exponentially, bubbling and exploding, kicking out thick, unmanageable clouds of murky pink and purple fumes. Within seconds, it covers the lab tables in an almost misty haze as you choke and sputter in a coughing fit, Azul gasping and choking right alongside you, panic flashing across his face. An eerie glow seeps through the thick liquid as a swirling mist appears from inside the glass. Without warning, it erupts directly toward the two of you before either of you have time to take cover—shattering the flask and showering the fronts of your faces and bodies in its noxious, intoxicating fluids. Both you and Azul choke out muffled yells and groans, the sticky, glittering mixture clinging to the fabric of your clothes and the exposed skin on your faces.

The next thing either of you register is Crewel's obnoxious bark as he spits out sharp commands to open the windows and clear out all the air from the room. Coughing, you gasp for fresh oxygen, suddenly becoming very aware of how fast your heart is racing. It thumps so hard and so forcefully inside of your ribcage that the noise reverberates loudly in your ears, overwhelming your senses. However, no amount of labored inhaling can free you from the toxic, vaporous gas; every molecule in your lungs has already been bombarded and completely overcome by the potion’s effects. As its intoxication takes hold of you, a wicked fever seems to roar within you, followed by a horribly slow heat that makes your limbs ache. Every orifice of your body is saturated by the miasma—liquid slips between your lips, gushing down the front of your body to coat your exposed neck and chest. You taste the surprisingly sweet potion on the inside of your mouth; its taste lingers sweet and tacky on the flat of your tongue, coating your throat. You'd panic that you just consumed some horrific cocktail with traces of corrosion or stomach-rotting acid, if it weren't for the fact that Crewel seems more frustrated than concerned for your well-being. Rather than damaging you, whatever substance was expelled seems to be having quite the opposite effect; you feel your body becoming more energetic, your head becoming lighter, and a bubbling rush of warmth seems to radiate all over from the inside out, changing your physiology into a fertile garden in need of sowing. Adrenaline rushes through you and awakens your basal instincts, forcing you to acknowledge every excruciating detail of your body in an erotic manner. Arousal slithers through your veins like venom, poisoning all remaining thoughts and rationality, as a throbbing, almost blinding wave of pleasure overtakes your body. You become intensely, achingly aware of your physical needs, and all those needs center upon an impassioned desire to be filled, stretched, and seeded full—the frantic urge to be bred nearly splits you in half and makes your lower belly cramp in a hot flash of want. For a second, you hear Azul stutter something to you, his voice wavering on the verge of cracking with the desire that the aphrodisiac had triggered. You lock eyes with Azul, pupils blown wide as lust makes his oceanic gaze shimmer. The front of his slacks have grown embarrassingly tight with the straining girth of his aroused cock. You meet his clouded eyes, almost embarrassed by your wanton thoughts and the desperate throbbing between your thighs.

It is only a split second of recognition, a blurry, sweaty haze of unfathomable passion, before your shared moment is interrupted. Crewel shouts at you to look him in the eyes, snapping you out of your sexual frenzy, even if only for a split second. He stares at you, his gray-streaked hair framing the contoured features of his face as he cocks an eyebrow. The elder gives your flushed skin and trembling body a once-over.

"Just as I thought. It's a dopamine-based aphrodisiac. At least nothing fatal or life threatening, but enough to send you both into a delirious, euphoric-fueled rut," he assesses calmly, unfazed. "What's more, the way the explosion altered the structure of the compound has made its properties even more potent and uncontrollable. In terms you incompetent pups will understand, we're past the stage of antidote or reprieve, and you both have mere moments before the hormones will reach maximum capacity and you two will need to find some private location to release the effects..." He trails off. From his expression, you can tell there is more he would like to add to the situation, yet a worrisome crinkle furrows his brow as his eyes remain on Azul, as though assessing whether the situation is really as under control as he wishes. "Both of you bad dogs listen carefully. Do not even dare to even breathe a word of what transpired here—you are to wait in isolation for five to eight hours until its effects wear off. Under no circumstances should you share physical contact with anyone else for the remainder of the day." He holds Azul's gaze longer than necessary, silently threatening him not to take advantage of this situation—but Azul seems far too caught up in the spell and too infatuated by the burning image of you, sweating, panting, and splayed before him.

"Should anyone at all realize that the two of you have taken any sort of love potion or been afflicted in this manner, it could create a massive scandal, and I'll punish you both so mercilessly for causing such an indiscretion, you'll be licking my boots in front of the entire school!" his deep voice booms in threat. "Have I made myself understood, dear pets?" Crewel snaps, the sting of his whip making both you and Azul wince and nod profusely. He leads you and Azul to the decontamination area of the lab, ushering you two into separate stalls so you can change into fresh, dry garments and wipe off the evidence of the explosion from the potion. When you both emerge, it takes Crewel less than a second to glance from the massive bulge straining against Azul's clothing, to where your heaving, quivering chest is spilling over the low neckline, your nipples hard and pressing obscenely through the thin fabric. He glares down his nose at the two of you in distaste.

"Five to eight hours," he hisses, eyes narrowing, almost sizing you and Azul up like he's waiting for one of you to give in to the pressure of the aphrodisiac. He throws open a back door, gesturing for you and Azul to disappear. Azul leaves first, a flushed, jumbled mess of conflicting emotions that are only intensified as he can feel every agonizing beat of his aroused heart pulse in the heat of his hard dick. You follow closely behind, but before you can cross the doorway, Crewel shoots his hand out to grip you by the upper arm, turning you to him as he towers over you, giving you an intense glare before sighing and pulling a small vial of bluish, iridescent potion from his bag and thrusting it into your hands.

"Since I know you won't be able to resist such a delectable temptation from that damn fishy bastard," his words drip with annoyance as he continues, "at least be safe, Pup. Go have a nice screw if that's what you really desire. The serum I just gave you is a contraceptive—just one sip and you will have full reproductive control, in case Azul isn't a decent man about his desires." You blink up at him in utter bewilderment. "Under no circumstances will I allow my star pupils to fall prey to the temptations and consequences of unprotected intimacy in the midst of this reckless hormone rush... I can't allow something like this to affect you or your ambitions. My students can only go to greater places." You feel his eyes burning with concern as he brushes your cheek, sending you a warning in his eyes and urging you to please think it through and consider it. "You are interested in Azul, are you not? I won't allow you to get involved in anything you don't consent to. If you don't feel safe, I can escort you straight to Ramshackle dorm and I will handle Ashengrotto myself." His stare, once cold and imposing, is now warm with protective care, as he looks you up and down with a gentle softness you didn't expect from your professor. The paternalistic expression on his face strikes your soul and pulls on your heartstrings a bit. After all, it's the type of support you feared was lost to you once you found yourself trapped in Twisted Wonderland with no hope of ever seeing your family again. With all the gentleness of a father, he squeezes your shoulder and gazes deeply into your eyes. You assure him that it's okay, you trust Azul. Nodding, your professor finally allows you passage out the door.

You had barely made it beyond the courtyard doors before Azul approached you with a sickly sweet, almost giddy look on his face. His steel-blue irises burned bright with anticipation, accompanied by a hint of something dark and salacious flickering in the shadows. The corners of his lips pulled taut, curling upward in a devious smile. A tremulous shudder passed through you and prickled up your spine at the thought of those hypnotizing eyes studying you while you lay enraptured beneath him, completely at his mercy. As he takes a few tentative steps toward you, his right hand glides and rests softly on your hip, making you gasp with surprise, your heartbeat fluttering and pounding deafeningly in your ears. Azul leans close to your ear, his breath coming out in hot, rapid pants, a carnal excitement that threatens to spill over and devour you whole. You swallow in nervous expectation, hardly daring to look into his lustful gaze. With his elegant index finger, he lifts your chin up and you are left gasping and flushed beneath him, lips parted to beg him for more as his gentle caress lingers. He flashes a devilishly handsome smile before tracing your lower lip with a seductive slowness. "Please, allow me to escort you back to Octavinelle where I can properly tend to you and your condition," the breathiness of his voice and his lack of composure cause your clit to throb, your inner walls pulsating, pleading to be stretched and ravaged. His lecherous advances and insinuations combined with the aphrodisiac coursing through your veins is making you so aroused, even standing close to him is threatening to make you cum. The very fabric of his essence seems to burn a shade darker—there is a terrifying intensity to his ardent desire for you, yet also a rawness and exposure you hadn't seen on his usually suave and polished facade.

Your whole body flushes when your gaze lands upon the size of his aching erection, an impressive tent straining tightly against his immaculate slacks, begging for attention through the dark material of his trousers. There is a manic, primal gleam that's spreading rapidly across his entire visage; he looks rabid with uncontainable greed, and you shudder at the thought that Azul will use your body to satisfy his own dark and twisted curiosities. "Please... It's the least I could do. After all, our most unfortunate situation is all due to my own recklessness," Azul pleads. His tone of voice is unwaveringly convincing in its sweet charm, yet you cannot escape the licentious twinkle that betrays his intentions, eyes ablaze with passion and lips quivering at the thought of making you his forever.

"Please... Just let me serve you and tend to your every whim," he begs. Even though the tone of his voice suggests innocence, you're reminded once more that Azul Ashengrotto believes the true intent in a plea is only to benefit his own ambitions—how ironic, then, that you find yourself overwhelmed with the desire to listen to the velvety cadence of his whispered sweet-nothings until you orgasm multiple times around the girth of his hard dick. Before you can speak, he reaches out and threads his fingers between your own. It was impossible to say no to the lilting honey of his tone, nor was there any will to fight as his firm and commanding hands ushered you towards the teleportation door. He practically pulls you into the mirror with him, and with a twinkly, delighted laugh, his covetous hand grasps you harder than ever as the portal draws closer, his eyes and touch almost reverential—eager, desperate, craving. The surface of the mirror swallows both of you up as the shadows distort the edges of your vision. The whole world spins around you both before the smell of the sea overwhelms your senses—the crispness of ocean air fills your lungs, and a feeling of cool relief washes over your flushed skin. In seconds, Azul is shoving you into an elevator and hitting the button to his suite. When the metal doors slide open, he gently shuffles you forward as he urges your body closer and closer toward his bedroom.

After his dorm door slams shut, your bodies mindlessly work to free the other's of their pesky and offending clothing, eager and restless fingers tearing and ripping at each article as though your lives depended on it. As each piece of clothing is discarded on the floor, new heated skin presses desperately into another as your erotic moans reverberate through the air. It feels electric, the way your sensitive, exposed bodies seek each other out, pawing and grasping at any available flesh and kissing any naked skin you can reach. Your hot, yearning mouth hungrily seeks Azul's for an urgent, feverish kiss—it is sloppy, desperate, almost savage as you share the intensity of your lusty feelings, gasping into each other's mouths, sucking, nibbling, tasting the sweet and sticky aphrodisiac concoction still lingering on both of your tongues. When Azul finally sheds his trousers, his painfully erect member juts out, throbbing and eager, bouncing happily and proudly as it quivers with eagerness. His knees weaken at the sudden release of the tension he'd suffered since the accident, the air a bit brisk against the heat of his erection, which begs to nestle itself securely into an inviting heat and fill your womb with the lusty seed it desires to spurt forth. His cock is ruddy and reddened, and his sack hangs swollen and tight with pent-up pressure. He doesn't think it possible for it to throb and swell even larger, yet its angry head and veins grow dark and twitch from his hot blood pumping. His hand mindlessly falls to his cock, and at the first stroke to his aching member, a needy whine catches in his throat. There is no time for shyness or apprehension. Whatever spell you were both under was driving you forward—like two planets caught in the gravity of an irresistible force, each gravitationally pulled toward the other with no means to stop. The rational part of his brain has been overwhelmed by an urgent instinct. Azul knows without a shadow of doubt that the only cure for this overwhelming haze of sexual depravity is to thrust himself deep inside the hot, velvety cunt of his precious lab partner.

Next thing you knew, you were pushed roughly, falling backwards before connecting against the smooth, luxurious blankets covering his mattress. He follows eagerly, letting his entire weight drop against your form and trapping your supple body beneath his. It was then, right then, when Azul found that the feeling of his aroused cock pressing against your thigh was unbelievably divine—a warm and pleasant tingling sensation spreading all over his hot, hard shaft and emanating out from his loins. With a contented hum, Azul can't resist the urge to buck his hips against your warm skin, stroking his arousal a little further, groaning at the exquisite friction. What a delicious sight you are—all nude and aroused—splayed and exposed across his bed. The effects of the potion have left you looking thoroughly wrecked, legs open, dripping and hot with an aroma so alluring, it nearly knocks the air out of his lungs. You are positively lovely, just as he'd always dreamed, with your petals unfurled and beckoning, enticing him further and drawing him in as your soft moans coaxed his cock in closer. To see you writhing and panting, the flush of your skin as you burned with longing for him...it was exactly as he'd always wanted it, almost as though someone had crafted the perfect image just to fulfill his darkest wishes. A surge of erotic fantasy comes upon him, and Azul's breath hitches in his throat as he ponders, briefly, about your womb filled with his seed, his beautiful angelfish round with child. He wants nothing more than to unceremoniously bury himself as deep within as he can, to push his thick, pulsating shaft as far as you could manage and stay buried to the hilt for days. His body quivers with excitement as a particularly vulgar dream reenters his mind. He had longed, always, to possess a most lascivious power over you—the power to make you writhe and squirm in bliss, and more importantly, in total and unbreakable dependence and submission for him—the neediest, sluttiest mess imaginable. Perhaps he'd have to thank Grim later for consequentially bringing about this fortunate chain of events.

Azul begins stroking himself fully, unabashed in his view of the sight before him. You don't protest the show. In fact, a high pitched, whimpery moan escapes you as you bite into your thumb to stifle the volume, but the sound is not missed, the harsh pang in his cock proof enough. After some thought, he realizes that he much preferred when you had been writhing and moaning quite uninhibitedly a moment earlier. You shift uncomfortably underneath his heated gaze as his eyes drink in every little curve, every little wrinkle and fold of your dripping pussy. Your toes curl inward and the ache deep within you demands attention. "You're so perfect, my little angelfish. Your body is exactly as I imagined," his saccharine voice admits as he leans forward, letting his fingers dance across the swell of your breasts. His left hand cradles your jaw and throat as his right continues its delicate massage across the plush pillow of your breasts, toying with the perked nubs of your nipples as his thumbs swirl small circles against the delicate flesh.

Azul's gentle touch ignites flames under his fingertips that follow his descent down to the juncture of your legs. The first brush against your swollen bundle of nerves and slit has your spine arching upwards, making his cock throb even more painfully, stiffening under the visual of your trembling body. A whine escapes and your hips grind involuntarily, the heat building intensely as his fingers begin to experimentally spread your folds slowly, running the tip of a finger from your core to the hood of your pearl. Without warning, Azul swipes upwards, expertly pulling back the hood and exposing the raw, sensitive flesh of nerves underneath, pinching down on the fleshy bud and causing you to yelp loudly in shock. With a satisfied grin, his forefinger begins to toy and tweak the hardened bud, rubbing gentle, rhythmic patterns over and over against the bundle as a chorus of delightful, high-pitched squeals fill his dormitory. After a few more ministrations, his hands continue down, delving his fingers straight into the moistened and heated opening, swiping up the slick mess you had coated his palm in. Two long fingers deftly slip right between your folds, caressing their way around your labia, your wet walls clenching around his fingertips desperately. "This wetness, for me?" Azul chuckles wickedly, crooking his fingers upward and brushing your g-spot with a knowing curl of his fingers, sending you spasming, gasping, and writhing in ecstasy, eyelashes fluttering wildly. "Oh, my dearest—so precious, my angelfish. That's it, so beautiful, just for me..." His voice drips with lecherous intent, his body moving without even the slightest hint of hesitation as though you were merely an extension of his own and not even a separate entity. Your wetness coats his fingers easily as Azul keeps sliding his fingers into your wet heat until the pads of his fingers touch all your deepest, hidden places, causing more sweet moans to fall from your lips and echo through his room. He scissors and curls his digits inside, stroking you slowly as though wanting to feel every bump, crease, and ridge along your walls, claiming his ownership over your deepest parts with a sinister delight.

A pressure builds and teeters precariously right at the precipice—the curling of his digits work feverishly to milk every drop of pleasure he can from your shuddering body, the warm flood of wetness drenching his eager fingers and making his head fall back with a sensuous moan. He continues with his relentless assault against your pussy, whispering filthy compliments about how badly he wanted to fuck you and how sexy it is when you take his fingers so well. Your legs flutter open wider, inviting his slim and nimble digits deeper within you, fucking them vigorously as your release begins to pool, rising closer to the boiling point. The aphrodisiac grips its poisonous talons deeper into your mind, warping and bending everything into an unshakable desire to submit yourself and your pleasure to the hands of the devious sea creature above you. He leans down, his silvery eyes roving over your face in an intense appraisal, his features drawn in with concentration, mapping out how to unravel you—there wasn't an emotion or micro expression that slipped past his vision as he carefully considered all the factors of how best to please and overwhelm your body with incomparable rapture. There isn't anything else beyond the present—no outside forces, nor worries about the consequences of being intimate. There's simply no room in your mind to think at this point, the cloudiness of the effects rendering your body vulnerable—you give yourself up entirely. He drinks up every breath, every shake and shiver, as he continues calculating your climax, relishing in each tiny noise or action he drew from you, meticulous with the acquisition of your bliss.

"Yes. Give in." he laughs maniacally, his face fully consumed in the intense madness of his lustful insanity. "Give in to every sensation. Let me drive you wild... Do as I command and cum," Azul demands you through his laughter, his breathing rapid and heavy as he watches your eyes rolling back. He moans in awe as the loud, slick sounds of his hand filling your soaking cunt meet his ears and a deep flush travels across his collarbones. His own needy cock leaks, eagerly anticipating what's next as its engorged state bulges obscenely, its every vein throbbing with virile desperation. Your high-pitched moans continue for some time as his pace stays fast, until you can finally feel your entire body tensing up, the fire coiling inside your gut ready to explode any moment. Everything builds higher and higher to the peak, every muscle and nerve fiber in your body primed to receive that last push that would send you catapulting over the cliff. As he feels your walls tremble, Azul moans along with your high-pitched wailing. A deranged smile stretches across his face and his silver eyes fill with amusement and fascination. 

Azul leans into your ear, whispering sweet nothings mixed with commanding, demanding words to finally succumb, "That's it...Let go..." He twists and digs deeper, stroking the perfect places inside you, hitting the correct spots relentlessly in an overload of mind-bending, debauchery-fueled, electric-spark pleasure, forcing your senses to dissociate from reality. His thrusting hand matches the frantic racing of his own heart, unable to keep the carnal fever down. "Give in... submit yourself fully, and surrender that orgasm. It's mine. I've worked for it, and now it belongs only to me." He whispers in a devilish growl, nibbling on your ear as his strokes become rougher, harder, faster—you can hardly stand the overwhelming force of your pleasure before its sweet relief crashes like waves. A broken moan leaves your mouth, a pure exaltation of uncontrolled passion. Noises come tumbling out and spilling over until you finally dissolve into a messy orgasm, shrieking his name in pleasure as his hand slows its motions but doesn't stop, keeping its pressure steady and rocking the whole of your existence until your mind goes blank. "Such a good, obedient angelfish, giving me all of your sweet, succulent cum... all for me, yes?" Azul hums sweetly, teasingly. "Oh, this is so precious," he sighs, feeling the quaking and trembling of your fluttering walls. His expression melts into one of deep satisfaction and pride.

"There you go, my lovely angelfish. Just as I said I would," Azul croons. Without another word, his hand, wet with your desire, abandons its ministrations, pulling from your depths with a slick pop, leaving your empty cunt to tremble from his absence. Azul brings his fingers to his mouth for a lewd taste test, licking the juices from his hand as a self-indulgent smirk plays upon his lips. As he rolls the digits around his tongue, sampling the essence of your cunt, a sharp groan rumbles deep from within his chest, the vibration coursing down his spine and directly into his throbbing member. Even as his breath grows heavy from the feeling of his needy cock, the smug, triumphant smirk doesn't disappear. He enjoys the honeyed, tangy sweetness and savors the lingering sensation on his taste buds—another string attached, making it utterly impossible for him to let go. A low chuckle is heard from deep in his chest, dark and hauntingly mirthful. From his pleased sigh, you could easily read the insatiable hunger growing within his gleaming eyes—clearly the lust in his loins has only been ignited further—a starving, manic beast hungry for even more from your yielding form, an insatiable craving that can't be satiated so easily. His cock visibly twitches, begging for him to mount you and thrust his painfully aroused length as far as he can manage deep into your eager, spasming pussy. The aphrodisiac courses through his veins with all the potency of a tropical storm, whipping every nerve into a frenzy as the instinct takes hold in Azul's most primordial thoughts and drives all those cravings with an irrepressible urgency—he simply has to get your pregnant. Azul's cheeks flush with a reddish-pink shade as he fixates on you, the hunger in his gaze absolutely feral, filled with a single-minded lustful determination to breed you.

When your eyes meet his maddened, love-struck stare, you are overcome with the same desperation radiating from your womb, urging to be stuffed and claimed by his thick load. At last, the two of you had connected in this all-consuming fire—a conflagration of desire so severe and a love so encompassing that both of you could do nothing more than dance on the ashes and burn with the flames. In that moment of recognition, an irresistible, bewitching aura emanates from him and mesmerizes you as the air of mystery dissipates from his visage, the eroticized specter of the fearsome and dangerous, devious mogul melts away to reveal the raw intensity of the young man underneath, exposed in all his ardent, unfettered passions. Here stands Azul, naked with vulnerability, desiring only a love that no other has been able to truly give. He's always tried to prevent access to his real emotions, afraid of the kind of cruelty they would reap upon him if they were found. He didn't believe himself to be worthy of their regard, let alone capable of receiving someone's genuine affections. With you, though, there were none of his signature theatrics, no polite deflection, nor charming evasiveness; he gave you full permission to view him and all of his repressed feelings on full display. An open book, Azul trusts you enough to expose his heart fully, so transparent in his neediness. Since he brought you to his bedroom, there was never the slightest hint of deception in his tone—not once had he attempted to distract you, nor used a tactic or trick. Perhaps his true intentions for getting close to you were more admirable than you thought, his desperation to get close to you was merely just a pining for your love rather than a sordid trick. His earnest, loving gaze, combined with the grip of your desire, makes something finally shift within, like the turning of the tide—a sense that it was fated for you to fall and crash so desperately, madly, and completely for him—a long-awaited inevitability, just as he had already done for you long before this Alchemy accident. Azul was an adoringly gentle yet brutally powerful force, a pillar in your life you can lean into without hesitation. All of your fears, worries, and frustrations are suddenly null, evaporating into the thin air of Octavinelle, carried into the gentle waters outside the window and disappearing into the seas.

Nothing is more erotic than seeing his carefully maintained veneer crumbling before you and letting himself fall apart at the seams. No longer hiding his desires or his ambitions for you, Azul's lusty hunger has you excited, aroused, and turned on like never before. You return his lustful, hazy expression and Azul is drawn right into the softness of your inviting stare. Your mouth parts to allow a needy moan to pass as you buck your hips slightly, inviting him to finally claim your body as his, a beautiful sacrifice you're eager to make for a beautiful siren such as him. With a deep, lewd groan, Azul pushes off your trembling body, propping himself onto his knees and groping at your chest, making you mewl. There's no trace left of the smooth businessman persona, not even a hint of it lingers when his wet mouth kisses at your mounds and his large hands explore the contours of your curves, his fingertips desperately memorizing the way you're put together, tracing every bit of available flesh. His eager tongue swirls at your peaked nipples, moaning in appreciation and delight. Your mind is being swallowed by a bubbling wave of bliss that has no end as his hand trails across your hips, his touch is as gentle as a ripple in the water. With a shyly embarrassed flush and a sigh of wanton abandonment, you surrender entirely to him—letting the sea creature drown you in ecstasy, deeper and deeper, into the endless ocean. He caresses your stomach gently, the calloused pads of his fingers exploring the sensitive skin where he knows your womb lies. Your heart stumbles as his lips twist upward in an impish smirk at the thought of all the cum he's soon going to pump straight into the cavity. He palms your belly, which would soon carry his progeny as an inevitable result of this union, imagining his angelfish's stomach rounded and taut with his unborn child, perhaps, even more than once—Azul's thoughts are full of fantasies about filling you and fucking your pretty little womb over and over until he succeeds and you're blessed with his babies. Azul hums at the image of your pregnant body, worshiping the slope of your thighs and rubbing his hands up your waist and the undersides of your breasts. Azul knows that even if it doesn't work right away, he is more than prepared to breed you again and again as many times as necessary. He is more than certain you'll eventually give him a consortium of little octopus-human hybrids. After all, you'd offered yourself up in the end. Who was he not to take what was freely given?

He grasps the back of your knee to prop up your leg in the air, shifting closer. In one fell swoop, your tender thighs are flung open, revealing your glistening cunt. Azul moans, running the rough pad of his finger right up the slit of your lips. You're already a mess, his slick hand had not been able to satisfy your heat at all, it only created a further yearning deep within that could only be satisfied by his aching cock. Azul settles against the fronts of your thighs, letting the stiff heat of his bulging erection nestle against the dripping lips of your cunt, already poised and eager for insertion. The anticipation causes the two of you to tremble slightly at the intimacy, your lips wet and sticky as they run against the length, his cock drooling freely from the tip and leaking beads of sticky, precum fluid right across your folds. With one more affectionate, sweet peck against the corner of your lip, and another one right upon your forehead, Azul slowly glides inside. A shared cry of euphoria leaves your mouths simultaneously as Azul buries the full length of his throbbing cock into your sopping entrance, thrusting powerfully to hilt balls-deep. The pure, erotic rapture of finally consummating your love floods both of your veins. His dick is filling you in the most indescribable way and stretching your cunt so deliciously that stars appear behind your eyes. A glorious symphony of relief sings in your blood while his hard girth massages your innermost walls as though he were meant for no other—like he was perfectly made to be the puzzle piece filling your immaculate pussy. You both gasp sharply in unison as the sensation sends tremors down his shaft. Every vein, ridge, and inch of his length drags deeply with each thrust as he grinds you thoroughly, bringing your clits into tantric connection and rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves back and forth in perfect time with the rocking motion. Each snap of his hip makes the two of you share a joyful sob as he pleasures you in the most divine manner.

A low and sinful groan passes through your lips as your hands grip him tighter, begging him to increase his momentum and pace. Azul's hands clutch you in a tight embrace, his chest to yours with every inch of his hardness fully embedded into your velvety passage, sending white-hot sparks of pleasure shooting to the deepest recesses of your innermost being, triggering the sudden rush of a climax that is starting to rise to its precipice. Azul groans as your juices run down his balls, pooling around his sack and providing more lubrication for his relentless drive inside of you. You clench and flutter around him, squeezing your inner walls with every desperate urge for friction and movement, drawing Azul's eye right up to yours in a lusty daze. His body is coiling for release, ready to cum, and there's a glitter of utter happiness in his expression. His lips quiver with desire and he smirks as he feels you clamping and spasming around his rock-hard dick, begging him to breed you like the little slut that he secretly knows you are, all while knowing deep down you'd get so unbelievably plump and swollen with his hatchlings, he'd hardly be able to move his tentacles with all the kids crawling over him.

It's more intense, and far more electrifying than the filthy fantasies that had invaded his sleep every lonely evening whenever he gave in to his insufferable yearning for you. He'd envisioned this, over and over—what it would feel like to make you orgasm, just how satisfying it would feel to cum with you at the same time, and how heavenly it would be to stretch your cunt so snugly—and yet, in this moment, it surpasses his imagination exponentially, eliciting a complete flood of sensual pleasure all throughout his senses. Not even his wildest wet dreams had prepared him for the heady intoxication and undeniable high he experiences with you—being passionately and physically intertwined, wrapped around the most sublime euphoria that was possible—a wave so dizzying that there's absolutely no going back to life without the other once your bodies have succumbed and reached that ultimate, highest peak.

When Azul hits the point of no-return, his legs start shaking as though his limbs were going to fall off. His fingers tangle roughly in your hair as he drags your mouth closer to meet his. With each heavy thrust, he swallows every moan that erupts from your throat. His movements become less coherent, rougher, and disjointed as the strength of your cunt's embrace pulses tightly around his shaft and urges him toward the edge. Suddenly, an intense wave of satisfaction takes hold and shoots to the tip of his cock, pulsating violently in need to release its seed. Azul can't help but groan loudly into your ear as he slams his cock into you with ferocious strength, fucking the life and soul right out of your being while a high-pitched scream accompanies the splash and squelching noises of your pussy. Your mouth has gone slack, jaw dropping as you cry out his name and climax with such power that it whips you into a complete frenzy of desperation, sending your vision dancing with lights. You quake and shiver under the force of his fervor and ecstasy, writhing on the mattress and throwing your head backward to soak in your overwhelming, toe-curling rapture. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, pounding you fiercely as you wail and shatter with a rush of emotions so intense, you don't know if you will ever put yourself back together. A strained whine and a few sharp pumps later, a surge of hot, wet euphoric heat shoots from Azul's balls and spurts out in ribbons of his own spent climax as he spends his load of pearly cum directly into your waiting womb, splashing your tight channel with a continuous stream—painting every crevice of your silken, fluttering, vice-like depths a glossy white. Azul is unable to help himself as his hips start grinding into yours with slow rolls, fucking and stuffing every drop of his sticky cream deeply and ensuring it remains securely nestled in your folds. Every remaining bit of sexual tension floods out as though you'd been submerged in the most heavenly waterfall of pleasure imaginable. Azul whines weakly into the pillow and your moans join, eventually dissipating into a heavenly silence as you sink heavily back to reality.

Time slows to an almost stop and your vision gets a bit hazy and bleary as the aphrodisiac magic completely pulses away. You two lay side by side on the soft blankets, still in the bed and soaked with sweat. Neither of you move for quite some time. Just in the wake of your post-orgasm, everything becomes intensely surreal. You try to breathe quietly so Azul doesn't hear and as his head rests on your breasts. He, too, is heaving with difficulty, each inhale is a conscious decision. He clings tightly against you, hands threaded together like a lifeline, afraid to let go. One last sentence leaves his mouth—a whisper that could have easily been missed by anyone except for you. It was a question.

"Are we both in love?" Azul asks with such hesitance, you think maybe you've misheard his inquiry. He is lying right by your side. His face is dangerously close to yours, and the way his stormy, ocean azure eyes reflect every emotion swirling inside allows you to see the years of hurt that's plagued him. He's absolutely enchanted, like you are the perfect dream come true—everything he'd ever imagined in one living, breathing, precious human body—a lover so magnificent he could hardly comprehend. He studies your expression with awe and reverence. A look so intensely raw it burns right through your heart and lights up the space in your soul that you never before realized was reserved just for him. "Because I love you... Truly and deeply. So much that I don't know how it was possible, even," Azul admits freely, without the least hint of apprehension or nervousness. You can feel the intensity and honesty of his words radiate through his trembling fingertips, through the places where his naked skin touched yours—he doesn't try to mask the pure unadulterated warmth and delight that leaks through the shaky but firm expression on his flushed face.

A wide, cheerful and genuine grin breaks out against your features as you nod enthusiastically, and it is almost as though a heavenly, soothing light has poured over his entire world. It feels like a dream, a fairytale that is too good to be true. Yet here you both lie, doused in the magic of the concoction, clinging to each other and to that euphoric elation after giving in to the passions and the chemical bonds. It felt incredible, it felt natural and familiar and right. This wasn't anything artificial, rather the long overdue acknowledgement of feelings that were there all along—a kindling of romance that was never forced, but rather fanned to life after many days spent as Alchemy partners. After seeing each other every day, getting to know each other's quirks, and learning of each other's daily habits, the intimacy had bloomed and nurtured into something tender and real. The closeness the potion provided simply allowed the two of you the confidence needed to step across a boundary and pursue things.

"This won't be something short lived... you understand what I am saying, yes?" His tone has a tinge of fear creeping in and you can't help but stroke the outline of his cheekbones. This feeling will not end with a simple fuck, you knew that deep in the marrow. There will be more of that to come. In fact, the thought of it has your cunt pulsing, your sex aching at the idea. "I simply won't have you anywhere else but with me, and here in my dorm. I just won't be able to be happy otherwise..." Azul's voice quivers as the vulnerable sincerity flows.

"Yes, Azul. Yes, I understand and I feel the exact same," you chuckle and cradle his head. His blue eyes crinkle slightly from the beam across his lips, and Azul can't resist pulling you in for a feverish kiss, groaning from the rush. That familiar, sinfully blissful high is starting to take hold again, the rush of the aphrodisiac stirring something fiery back into a pleasant burn. The chemical’s grip on the two of you continues. After all, nothing will stop the magic from bringing you closer together. He murmurs a seductive promise into the curve of your throat that he won't stop until his load drips and slides right out of your swollen cunt—he's going to breed you the rest of the night and spill as much of himself deep within as he can. He has no doubt you're going to give him a child that will cement this loving bond permanently.

Listen I don't know HOW this HAPPENED, I DON'T understand how I wrote this much. I am DELIRIOUS and I need to go pick up some pizza for dinner, so I wish I could say more here but I can't right now. I'll update this part when I get back home. I just needed to get this out into the UNIVERSE. THANK YOU ALL!!! HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!! <3333 Erica Malleleothreesome

[kdyq]

The start of a new beginning

Ambessa x Fem!reader

Part one of a my mini series

Context : As Ambessa steps into a new role one of fierce protector and tender caretaker. While navigating the delicate early days of potential pregnancy with the help of Hextech IVF.

The lab was quiet except for the soft hum of Hextech crystals glowing faintly along the walls. Piltover’s finest alchemist stood before you a meticulous mixture of science and magic in his hands. Within the small vial he carried was the culmination of countless discussions, hopes, and dreams shared between you and Ambessa a mixture of your genetic material prepared for implantation through the marvel of Hextech fertility.

Ambessa stood beside you her imposing figure like a fortress of strength. Her golden eyes usually so sharp and calculating flickered with an emotion she rarely allowed herself to show… hope. “This is it” you said your voice quiet but steady as you reached for her hand.

She took your smaller hand in hers, her touch surprisingly gentle. “This is the beginning of something greater than either of us.”You smiled up at her warmth spreading through your chest. “You sound more optimistic than I expected.”

Her lips quirked in a rare soft smile. “Let’s call it confidence. We’ve fought for this and Medardas don’t lose battles.”The alchemist cleared his throat reminding you both that this moment was more than just words. “Shall we proceed?”

You nodded and Ambessa gave your hand one final squeeze before releasing it. “I’ll be right here”she promised her deep voice grounding you.

The process was not painful but it was deeply intimate. Lying on the sterile table you felt a strange mix of vulnerability and strength. The alchemist worked with precision the glowing Hextech apparatus buzzing faintly as it did its work.

Ambessa sat by your side her chair pulled close. She had insisted on being present for every second refusing to leave your side even for a moment. Her large hand rested on yours her thumb tracing soothing patterns across your skin. “Does it hurt?” she asked her voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Not really” you replied glancing up at her. “It’s just… strange. Knowing this could change everything.” “It will change everything” she said firmly her golden eyes locking onto yours. “And I’ll be here for every step of it.”

The procedure concluded without complication. The alchemist stepped back his expression one of professional satisfaction. “The implantation is complete. Now we wait for confirmation.” “How long?” Ambessa asked her tone calm but commanding.

“Two weeks” the alchemist replied. “ I’ll provide instructions to ensure the process is as smooth as possible. Minimal stress plenty of rest and careful monitoring.”Ambessa’s jaw tightened slightly but she nodded. “Understood.”You knew from that point own you wouldn’t lift a single finger until that conformation.

From the moment you left the clinic Ambessa transformed into a one woman security detail. She insisted on carrying you into the estate despite your protests.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking!” you said laughing as she scooped you up effortlessly.“Humor me” she replied her voice tinged with rare amusement. “You heard the alchemist minimal stress. I don’t take chances.”

Over the next few days her overprotectiveness became both endearing and slightly irritating . She refused to let you lift a finger but you know this is a love language for her she just doesn’t wanna tell you that. She’ll be reorganizing your usual routines with military precision.

“Ambessa I can pour my own tea” you said one morning as she carefully placed a steaming cup in front of you.“Not while I’m here” she countered her tone leaving no room for argument.

“oh my god your gonna drive me crazy” you teased though the warmth in your voice betrayed how much you appreciated her care.She leaned down her golden eyes locking onto yours. “Good. It means you’ll stay put.”

One evening as the two of you sat in the estate’s sprawling garden you finally managed to coax her into relaxing. The stars above were bright and the soft hum of the estate’s wards created a comforting background noise.

“You’ve been hovering “you said, leaning your head against her shoulder.“And?” she replied her smirk audible in her voice.

You laughed softly. “And I love you for it. But you don’t have to treat me like I’m fragile.”Ambessa shifted slightly, turning to face you. Her large hands cradled yours, the contrast between your smaller fingers and hers a reminder of her strength.

“You’re not fragile,” she said, her voice low and serious. “But this…. this life we’re creating…. it’s the most important thing I’ve ever done. And I won’t take any risks with it or with you.”The intensity in her gaze left you momentarily speechless. You reached up, cupping her cheek and she leaned into your touch.

“I know love” you said softly. “But you don’t have to carry it all on your own. We’re in this together.”Her expression softened and she pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You’ve always been better at balancing strength with softness. Maybe I could learn from you.”

As the two weeks stretched on your interactions grew even more intimate. Ambessa was a constant presence her protective instincts balanced by moments of vulnerability she rarely showed anyone else.

One afternoon she found you curled up in the library flipping through a book of baby names.“Already planning?” she asked her tone light as she sat beside you.“Just… imagining,” you replied, leaning against her. “Do you have any preferences?”

She took the book from your hands, flipping through it thoughtfully. “Something strong. Something that carries weight.”You smiled. “That’s very you.”

She looked down at you, her golden eyes warm. “And something that honors you.”The day of the follow up appointment arrived and Ambessa’s usual composure was replaced by a quiet tension. She held your hand tightly as you both awaited the results.When the alchemist finally returned holding the glowing test tube that signaled success, you felt tears well in your eyes.

“It worked”he said simply his voice filled with warmth. “Congratulations.”You turned to Ambessa your heart full. She stared at the test tube for a long moment before pulling you into her arms.

“You’ve done it” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “We’ve done it.”In that moment, surrounded by her strength and love you knew that this child would be born into a world shaped by both power and tenderness a legacy built on the unshakable bond you shared.

“THE END”

AN/ This took me so long to jus think about how im gonna do this whole story but im just about done with the part 4 ish I just wanted to have all or most of this mini series done so it wont be a long time between each “chapter”. Next one shot is Ambessa and then Sevika 🥸

[dark-moonlust]

Bound by the Rose Mark

This commission is owned by Kate Hart. As the original writer, I strictly forbid any form of reproduction, replication, or translation of my stories without my explicit consent.

Pairing: beast oc (Alaric) x f!reader

Summary: This is a story with Beauty and the Beast vibes. You live in a grand castle with a beast named Alaric. One day, you accidentally touch him and a glowing rose tattoo appears on your skin. Alaric explains that the tattoo is a sign of a curse that binds the two of you together. You can't get more than a few steps away from him without feeling pain and arousal. Forced to stay close, you both succumb to your feelings and the deep connection between you.

Warnings: 18+, mid-eighteenth century story, true love curse, beauty and the beast vibes, magic tattoo bonding, virgin reader, oral (fem receiving), foreplay and stimulation, p in v sex, big 🍆, belly bulge, knotting, lots of 💦.

I completely forgot to post this commission! Enjoy!!

Château d'Azay-le-Rideau, France - 1750

“Make it stop!” you groaned, wide eyes on the Beast, who stood calmly by the fire, his large, furred form casting long shadows over the walls. “Please, just… make it stop!”

“I cannot do that.” Came his voice, steady and infuriatingly husky.

The moonlight shone through the castle's grand windows, pouring glittering beams across your body as you paced back and forth, the tap of your boots echoing on the sleek floor. Your fingers moved nervously against the mark on your wrist, the delicate rose pattern twisting and developing, shimmering softly against your skin. With each passing second, the flower vines extended further up your arm, emitting a sweet warmth.

It all began a year ago with a professional agreement. The Beast was Lord of the Castle and needed someone to govern it. You were that person. You lived in his huge fortress and worked as his chamberlain. But what began as a rigid work agreement quickly turned into closeness. 

In the past months, you’d grown used to his company, you were after all, alone in a huge castle with no one but a few servants to talk. He’d gifted you his enormous library, a beautiful haven of literature. He also spent time with you every day, taking you on walks to the gardens, organizing big dinners, music nights, and theatrical nights. You’d been foolish to allow yourself to get comfortable, to hover close enough and be tempted to touch him.

But his fur had appeared so silky and inviting. What was one touch?

You'd succumbed to the temptation and touched him, curved your small palm over his massive arm. 

A moment later, all order unraveled. 

A weird tingling sensation had begun to emerge from your wrist, and as you looked down, a red rose began to light softly, its delicate petals winding up your wrist, its thorny vines snaking out, tracing your skin with intricate detail. The tattoo was enchanted and even now— it continued to spread on your arm.

Oh, how foolish and naive you had been! To approach him so carelessly, hovering so close that his mere presence seemed to draw you in. It was foolish to give in to your curiosity, reaching out to touch him despite the warnings. And now, this—this thing—was strangely connecting you to him in ways you couldn't fathom.

The Beast—no, Alaric, as he was once known—kept staring at you like an idiot, his sharp features unreadable. He didn’t even look troubled. Why would he be? For once, he wasn’t the one in trouble. He rather enjoyed it, wicked Frenchman that he was. Yet as you glanced at him, you felt another spark, a liquid warmth in your belly. His form, massive and imposing, stood out against the moonlight, making the entire hall feel smaller, more intimate.

Alaric had been cursed long long ago, cursed to find misery, coldness and no love. His face was no longer that of a beautiful Prince but of a beast with horns, sharp teeth and lion’s mane. He was massive and muscled, with strong legs and a wolf-like tail. His clothing was still royal, tailored to fit his form. He looked as elegant and well-groomed as possible.  

With an exasperated groan, you stroked your wrist harder, the glow intensifying with each stroke of your fingers. "Damn! Why doesn't it stop?! Please, stop it!"

He spoke with a long sigh, his voice low and rumbling. "I told you I cannot do that."

"You can't or you won't?"

"It's the mark of the curse…" His glance swept across your wrist. "There is no undoing it."

Your heart sunk at his words. You were aware of his curse but had no idea it could be transmitted through touch. Damnation! And damn the warmth of the mark, affecting your whole body. It felt warm and wet between your thighs as if a fire was spreading beneath your skin, connecting you to him. Every pulse of fire reminded you of your error.

“I… I didn’t ask for this!” you protested, rubbing at the mark as if you could wipe it away with sheer willpower. “I was just—just curious! I did not want to be cursed.”

“You touched me, therefore now you will pay. You are bound to me.”

You shot him a sharp look, waving your pulsing wrist in the air. “You could have warned me that I’d get cursed just by touching you!”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “But I did warn you not to touch me, didn’t I? You were simply too curious.”

“I thought you were goading me, challenging me! You didn’t mention the part where I’d be magically tethered to you like a pet on a leash,” you snapped despite the lingering warmth in your chest. 

“You are wild and untamed. Always speaking back to me, always doing as you please. It’s your fault, little one.”

“Still…” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “A little heads-up would’ve been nice.”

“Where would the fun in that be?”

“Oh, yes, this is so hilarious. I’m cursed with a pulsing tattoo— it glows like a freaking beacon by the way—and you’re not in the least concerned.”

“The mark will stop glowing once you accept it.”

“I’ll never accept it!”

Alaric sighed. “The curse cast upon me ensured I would never be loved. I was cursed to live as a beast, hated and feared... alone."

You gazed at him, the weight of his words hurting your heart. His formidable, imposing frame suddenly appeared fragile.

“However,” he continued, “there is a way… for the curse to wane. Not to break it entirely, but weaken its grasp. The curse weakens—forever— when I am touched by someone who genuinely loves me.”

“So… this mark…”

Alaric nodded. “It means you are the one fated to love me. And because of that, the curse has loosened its grip on me. Though I can never return to the man I once was, I can have love.”

Your eyes welled with emotion, but you refused to cry in front of him. “So… this is permanent?" 

Alaric hummed and stepped close, his towering frame suddenly feeling much too close. “I’m sorry… but you are now bonded to me, my thorny rose,” he purred. “Alas, you could have worse company, no? And the mark… I think it’s quite beautiful.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “Beautiful? It’s so big and so… damn hot!”

“That temper of yours…” he sighed softly, in a way a beast like him never would. “Of course it makes you hot. The closer we are, the more it will affect you. It’s a sign that our bond is… flourishing.”

You blinked, rubbing your thighs together at the effect of his deep voice, presence and scent. “Flourishing? My wrist isn’t a garden, Alaric. This is my skin. And I assure you, it’s not supposed to glow.”

“We are connected. The curse… it has tied our fates together. The more we fight it— both of us— the more painful it will become."

You swallowed hard. “And if I… don’t fight it? Will it stop and leave my skin?”

“No. Never, little one. The mark will just settle there, binding you to me, fully and irrevocably. But… I’m afraid we cannot stray far from one another without feeling pain.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

His lips curled, showing just the barest flash of sharp teeth. “Immensely.”

Stupefied, you spun around, intending to get some fresh air but the moment you moved away, a sudden, scorching pain went through your chest, making you gasp. He was there instantly, steadying you with a large, clawed hand. You curled into his body, sighing pleasantly at the feel of his fur against your skin. It felt so good, warm and inviting, his musky scent tantalizing your senses. You hadn’t realized it but your hands were buried in his forearms, holding him to you.

“Foolish one,” he muttered, his breath warm against your temples. “What did I just tell you?”

“Alaric…” you sighed, meeting his eyes with reluctant acceptance. “Make it stop, please, make this ache go away.”

A low chuckle escaped him as he rubbed your wrist, feeling the warmth pulsating beneath your skin and tracing the delicate rose mark. The rose's delicate vines had wrapped themselves around your forearm, growing faintly. You bit back a moan, despite everything, you felt the pull—the odd bond that bound you to him, pulling you nearer to him with each breath.

“Ah, yes… it can be intense. Every step you take away from me will only bring more pain, more desire pooling deep inside.”

“Deep inside?”

Alaric raised a brow, a glint in his eyes. “Hmm, deep inside your cunt. I can scent your sweet arousal. Always could scent your need for me.”

You looked away. His words made you wet. Tenderly, he turned your face back to him. There was no hiding your blush or emotions.

“The curse bound us together. Two halves meant to be one. And if we give in…” he trailed off, his huge palm framing your face. “Would it be that bad?”

The tension in the room shifted as he stood there, with you in his arms, the strange pull between you palpable. Were you truly the one for him? Your heart stuttered. The idea of being physically and emotionally bound to Alaric—a beast of both grace and power —was captivating.

And the more you thought about it, the more your heart and body betrayed you. Oh dear… Yes, you wanted him. You wanted him with every ounce of your soul. Right on cue, the tattoo—its once glowing petals and vines now settled into a permanent black design that curled up your forearm. Becoming a part of you.

You didn’t resist when Alaric scooped you up, carrying you through hallways to his private chamber— a huge, opulent bedroom with polished wood and velvet furnishings, tapestries hanging on the walls, and a stone fireplace crackling in the corner. The bed was the largest piece of furniture in the room; it had a dark purple canopy covered in silk and velvet covers making it appear incredibly soft and inviting.

Alaric lowered you on the plush bedding and he came to rest beside you, his body half-looming over you, massive yet tender and protective. His eyes, golden and intense, settled on you then down to the rose mark. His fingers, clawed but surprisingly gentle, traced the rose before his tongue brushed a petal of the tattoo, feather-light, sending a shiver of electricity racing up your spine.

You watched, breathless, as he nuzzled and licked every petal, every vine, every thorn, his muzzle soft against your skin. The heat of his breath warmed you as he worked his way up your forearm, his mouth following the intricate lines of the rose, savoring every inch of it. With each kiss, your pulse quickened, your body shamelessly hot, your pussy dripping slick.

“Alaric…” you said in a sultry voice you could hardly recognize.

“Easy. We’ll take it slow, my thorny rose.”

As he said that, his lips hovered just inches from your collarbone. His tongue darted out, tracing the delicate indentation at the base of your neck. A sweet gasp escaped you as he licked a slow, tortuous trail down the round tops of your breasts, pulled up by your corset and your bodice. The laces on your bodice came undone, the corset disposed of in seconds as he skillfully drew the fabric down your waist, exposing your breasts to the cool air and his hungry gaze.

Your body arched closer to his, your nipples hardening into tight, aching buds. His eyes locked onto yours before he bent down and let his tongue trace the underside of each mound. You whined, burning so fiercely with desire as he licked the around your areolas. Teasing and exploring. Never quite getting to your sensitive nipples.

“Alaric,” you warned, thrusting your chest to his mouth.

“How I love it when you call my name.”

And with that, he licked one tiny bud, causing your body to shiver with want. Your hands gripped his horns, keeping him in place as he lapped one nipple, sucking wetly, his saliva and scent mingling on your skin. He did the same with the other nipple, and your body melted into his, hips arching up, breasts thrust sweetly into his lips.

You were lost in passion and he was only touching you.

You craved more. You wanted to touch, feel, and own every part of him.

Boldly, your hands slid up to his jacket, tugging at the heavy fabric, feeling its weight between your fingertips. You dragged his jacket away and he helped you remove it along with his shirt, without quite taking his tongue and hands off your breasts. Furry broad shoulders were revealed and a powerful, sculpted chest and stomach.

Large hands encompassed your tits as he growled softly and angled his head, his tongue trailing the curve of your neck. His fingers pinched your nipples, careful of his claws. Your breath hitched and you tilted your head back, offering him more.

“Oh god… yesss,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Blindly, you brought his mouth to you, needing to feel his kiss. But he hesitated, pulling back slightly. His golden eyes met yours, darkened with desire but shadowed with worry.

“I’m afraid… of hurting you,” he drawled. “I have no lips and my teeth… they’re sharp. I don’t want to—”

“Use your tongue,” you whispered, breathless, gone was the shyness in you. “Please.”

For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, but then, as though unable to resist any longer, he surged forward. His mouth opened, and his tongue, hot and insistent, swept across your lips before plunging deeply. Deeper still. He tasted you, swallowed your breaths, and pressed his moist and burning tongue against yours, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through you with each stroke. You gasped into his mouth, the sound drowned out by the sheer intensity of the kiss, your hands grabbing his shoulders.

The sound of fabric tearing and garments hitting the floor was the only indication of what was to come.

The flickering light in the room danced across your flesh, both naked and unashamed. His body enveloped yours, his weight pressing down on you, his thighs spreading your legs apart. The sheer size of him caused your pussy to clench. His shaft was a massive veined rod of flesh, long and thick, with a knot at the base. His cock throbbed and leaked moisture, and his balls thick and heavy, hung like ripe fruit.

You couldn't help but reach out, a little bashful as your fingers stroked the silky warmth of his shaft. It was both firm and tender, as hot as touching a blazing flame. Alaric snarled and watched your small hands. You trailed the protruding veins and bulbous head all the way down to the bulging sac. He growled, his entire body tense.

“Such soft gentle touches. But I can’t—little one. I need to taste you, have you.”

You opened your mouth to protest but whined instead when his tongue licked the delicate folds of your pussy. Your body ignited, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. Spine arching, you opened your legs obscenely wide, his head buried in between, wet tongue consuming your depths. He thrust his appendage inside, snarling primitively, and you sighed delightfully, your cunt pressing against his mouth as you shut your eyes tightly and surrendered to the passion.

“Mmmmm, so breathtaking,” he drawled, his tongue gracing your cunt. “I love the rose mark on your skin but even more so the petals on your wet cunt… so lovely and wet. I love to tease and lick them.”

Eyes holding your own, he hooked his large hands around your thighs, bringing them around his furred torso. His dick, massive and twitching, stroked against the wet petals of your cunt. He lubricated himself; you were soaked and ready to receive him. You wiggled and squirmed, impatiently attempting to guide him inside. Finally, with a gentle nudge, he growled, and the broad popped in.

Cupped your ass, he pushed inside, his cock gliding into you in one smooth thrust. You were incredibly tight, untouched and you gasped at the slight discomfort of the invasion. Despite his size, he somehow fit, his body seemingly designed to mold itself to yours. Your cunt was stretched wide, only his knot showing, and your belly bulged slightly, revealing the curve of his shaft beneath your skin.

Alaric caressed your belly lovingly as if marveling at the sight. “Yes, mine. It will be alright. I promise you. Does it hurt, little one?" 

You shook your head. “Not anymore. Please… hmmm—move. Need to feel you so desperately.”

“As you wish, my rose.”

His eyes never left yours as he thrust out of you, all the way out before slowly filling you up. This time there was no discomfort, only building intensity. His shaft slid in and out of you, the friction reigniting your desire. Your body flexed, your walls squeezing around his dick as he increased the pace. His thrusts became faster and more urgent, and you held him, rocking against him as his tongue stroked yours, making you dizzy with desire. 

Alaric was unstoppable, unrelenting and soon you were both shuddering in climax. He thrust one final time, bottomed out inside you till his swollen knot had popped inside. You whined, muscles contracting around him, your cunt snug around his knot, tying you together. You saw stars, thrashed wildly in little aftershocks as he released, a flood of cum filling you up. It didn’t help that he let out those delicious growls, tongue devouring your mouth.

Time seemed to stand still. You lay there, with him atop you, his dick still pulsing within you, his knot throbbing with a slow beat. It had been minutes and he was still spurting, though slower this time. You basked in the afterglow of your passion, felt so utterly at peace. Your bodies had become one and the tattoo on your wrist had never felt so right.

You were his, completely and utterly his.

“How are you feeling, my thorny rose?” he asked after he’d rolled over so you were draped over his chest, his knot still hard inside you.

“I feel loved,” you said as you rested over his chest feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath the fur. “I have never been kissed or loved by anyone like this before—have never felt anything like this before.”

“There is no going back now,” he said possessively. “You gave yourself to me. What I feel for you is raw, primal. It cannot be stopped or contained.”

You grinned. “So, what? I’m just stuck to you for the rest of eternity?”

“Figuratively and literally, I’m afraid,” he said, groaning at the feel of his knot tucked inside your warm cunt.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Alaric’s eyes softened. “I will never be the charming Frenchman I once was. That man’s appearance is gone, replaced by this… beast.”

Smiling, you let your hand reach up to touch his face, tracing the firm lines of his jaw, his fur silky beneath your fingers. “The appearance might be gone,” you whispered, “but your heart isn’t. Besides, I think I’m past wishing for a handsome prince on a white horse. French or not.”

A low chuckle vibrated through his chest. “You’ve got a strange way of looking at things.”

“And you’ve got a strange way of doubting yourself,” you shot back teasingly. “You might not be the Prince you once were, but you’re more than enough for me.”

“Don’t you regret it?” he asked quietly after a few seconds. “Mating with me? That I’ll always be… like this?”

“Oh, I am surprised but this is so lovely,” you murmured, hands caressing his shoulder. “It’s so lovely because I always wanted you to be mine. I've always felt attracted to you but was frightened to admit it. I was also scared you would reject me heartlessly."

“Never. I could never do that.” He took your hand, kissed the rose tattoo on your wrist.

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with love. “You are thoroughly mine, Alaric.“

For a moment, he stared at you and a soft, almost amused rumble escaped him. “You really are something,” he drawled, his free hand brushing the curve of your ass. “You’ve given me something I thought I could never have again." 

“I am yours,” you whispered. “I love you. All of you, my Beast.”

“I love you more, my thorny rose,” he said, his eyes dark with lust.

Smiling, you kissed and made love again —harder, hotter, and wetter.

THE END

[solxamber]

The Fairest of Them All || Vil Schoenheit

You've chosen Vil!

Navigating the chaos of Night Raven College, you somehow end up stealing the heart of Pomefiore’s untouchable Housewarden.

w.c: 5.3k

1k Masterlist ; Prologue

It’s the night of the opera, and you’re anxiously adjusting your outfit for what feels like the hundredth time. Vil had invited you—Vil Schoenheit, the epitome of elegance and poise—and you’d spent hours ensuring you looked halfway decent next to someone so effortlessly perfect.

When the knock at the door comes, you barely manage to keep yourself from sprinting to open it. And there he is.

Vil stands on your doorstep, dressed in formal wear that could kill a victorian child, his golden hair tied back with precision that seems almost unfair to the rest of humanity. A soft scent of bergamot and cedar follows him, making your brain stutter.

Your jaw goes slack, and you freeze, blatantly staring like a deer caught in headlights. You’re trying to say something, anything, but the only thing leaving your mouth is the sound of air escaping your lungs.

Vil’s lips twitch into the faintest smirk. “Good evening,” he says smoothly, clearly noticing your state. His eyes sweep over your outfit, and he nods in approval. “You’ve done well. You look rather lovely tonight.”

“Uh-huh,” you manage to squeak, still staring. Internally, you’re screaming: What do you mean rather? Lovely?? Have you looked in a mirror recently?!!

He gestures toward the waiting car. “Shall we?”

You nod dumbly, closing the door behind you before following him to the sleek black vehicle parked outside.

The interior of the car is as polished as Vil himself, the soft leather seats and faint glow of the dashboard making it feel like you’ve stepped into another world. You try to focus on the excitement of the opera, but the quiet presence of Vil next to you is making that exceedingly difficult.

As the car glides through the city, your hands brush accidentally, a fleeting touch that sends a little jolt through you. You glance at him, expecting him to pull away or comment, but he doesn’t even blink. If anything, his expression softens, his gaze fixed out the window.

You take a deep breath, gathering your courage, and slowly slip your hand into his.

Vil raises an eyebrow ever so slightly, but his grip tightens around yours, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “Excited, are we?” he murmurs, the corners of his lips tugging upward in that signature, knowing smirk of his.

You nod quickly, your heart pounding. “Yeah! I mean, it’s my first opera. I don’t want to miss a second of it.”

“Good,” he says, his voice a touch softer. “You’ll appreciate it more than most.” He pauses, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “And… it’s refreshing to share it with someone who isn’t afraid to show their enthusiasm.”

You smile at that, feeling a little less nervous and a lot more giddy.

The grand opera house is breathtaking, its towering marble columns and gilded details glowing under the warm lights. You almost trip on the stairs trying to take it all in. Vil’s hand at your elbow steadies you.

“Careful,” he says lightly, his lips quirking in amusement. “I’d rather not have our evening interrupted by a sprained ankle.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, your face heating up as you let him guide you to your seats.

The opera begins, and it’s as magical as you imagined. The singers’ voices soar, weaving a story so full of emotion you feel like you’re holding your breath half the time. But despite the beauty on stage, you find your attention drifting.

To him.

Vil sits beside you, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the stage lights. He’s transfixed, his violet eyes glittering as they follow the performers. He’s utterly ethereal, and you’re entirely doomed.

When he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, your gaze snaps back to the stage so fast you almost give yourself whiplash. But you can still feel him looking at you, and when you sneak another glance, you catch the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

Your heart does a little flip.

It's time for the intermission and you slowly stretch out your legs.

“Let’s take a walk,” Vil suggests as the lights come up. You nod, following him out of the auditorium and into the grand halls of the opera house.

The murals lining the walls are stunning, vivid depictions of myth and music that seem almost alive under the flickering chandeliers. Vil walks beside you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back to guide you through the crowd.

It’s subtle, effortless, and completely unfair. You’re hyper-aware of the warmth of his touch, the gentle pressure that somehow manages to make your brain short-circuit.

“Relax,” he murmurs, leaning closer so only you can hear. His breath brushes against your ear, and you nearly trip over your own feet. “You’re walking like you’re in a dream.”

“I feel like I am in a dream,” you blurt, before immediately regretting it.

Vil chuckles, a soft, genuine sound that makes your stomach flutter. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He pauses in front of one particularly grand mural, his hand lingering at your back as he studies it. You glance up at him, catching the way his eyes soften as he takes in the artwork.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, though you’re not entirely sure you’re still talking about the mural.

“It is,” he agrees, his gaze flickering down to meet yours. “Though not nearly as much as some things.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and judging by the amused glint in his eyes, he’s thoroughly enjoying your reaction.

The show ends, and you’re still buzzing from the experience as you climb into the car. You hum the aria under your breath, the melody still fresh in your mind.

Vil sits beside you, one arm resting casually against the window as he watches you with quiet amusement.

“You enjoyed it, then?” he asks, though it’s clear he already knows the answer.

“Are you kidding? That was amazing!” you say, turning to him with a wide grin. “I mean, the costumes, the singing, the—”

You stop mid-sentence as Vil leans in, his face so close you can feel the warmth of his skin.

Your heart skips a beat. “W-What are you—?”

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. “You’re a mess,” he says, though his tone is far too fond for the words to carry any bite.

He leans back, smirking at your flustered expression. You can practically feel the heat radiating off your face as you bury it in your hands.

Vil walks you to your doorstep, the moonlight casting a soft glow over his features. He looks so effortlessly regal, so infuriatingly perfect, and you know you’re going to be replaying this night in your head for weeks.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say, turning to him with a smile. “I had a great time.”

“The pleasure was mine,” he replies, his voice smooth as ever.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you take his hand, pressing a quick kiss to the back of it. “Goodnight, Vil.”

You dart inside before you can see his reaction, but as you peek through the curtains, you catch him standing there, a small, genuine smile on his lips.

And just like that, your night feels even more magical.

The evening starts peacefully at Ramshackle, with you sitting on the couch, Grim sprawled on your lap, and a carton of apple juice in hand. The tranquility is shattered by what sounds like a battering ram hitting the door.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

“HENCHUMAN!” Grim screeches, bolting upright and scrambling toward the door. “Somebody’s tryin’ ta demolish our house!”

“Calm down, Grim!” you shout, rushing to the door. As you open it, you find Epel standing there, out of breath, his hair disheveled like he’s been running for his life.

“EP—”

“I NEED SANCTUARY!” Epel cries, practically diving inside before slamming the door behind him. “Please, hide me! Don’t let him find me!”

You blink at him, baffled. “What—who—huh?”

Grim squints up at Epel, unimpressed. “What’d ya do this time, farm boy?”

“I didn’t do nothin’! Vil’s gone mad again! He wants me to do some eight-step skincare ritual with somethin’ called snail mucin!” Epel flops onto the couch dramatically. “SNAILS, Prefect. SNAILS. I don’t wanna look like no slimy critter!”

You try to keep a straight face, but it’s impossible. “Epel, you know he’s just trying to help, right?”

Epel grabs a carton of apple juice from the table and downs some of it like it's vodka. “Help? Help turn me into a snail, maybe!”

Grim nods sagely. “Yeah, I dunno what a ‘mucin’ is, but it sounds slimy.”

The atmosphere is almost cozy again as the three of you sit around, sipping juice and joking around. But then it happens.

Knock. Knock. KNOCK.

This knock isn’t like Epel’s desperate pounding. This knock is sharp, precise, and terrifyingly composed.

Grim lets out a dramatic gasp. “IT’S HIM!”

Epel pales. “Don’t open it. Please don’t open it!”

Curiosity gets the better of you, and you cautiously crack the door open. Sure enough, there stands Vil Schoenheit, looking like he just stepped out of a photoshoot, his expression as serene as a summer lake—but with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Good evening,” Vil greets you with a polite smile. “Would you kindly return my wayward dorm member?”

You glance over your shoulder at Epel, who is shaking his head violently and mouthing, “Don’t you dare!”

“Uh,” you begin, already feeling trapped. “I mean… what if—what if he just stayed here for tonight?”

Vil raises an elegant brow. “I see. Is that how it’s going to be?” He steps inside with the grace of a cat, his gaze shifting from you to Epel. “I’m sure you think you’re very clever.”

“Lemme be free,” Epel whines, hiding behind the couch. “I ain’t ready for snails on my face!”

Vil’s smile turns sharp. “Snail mucin is a highly effective hydrator, but if you insist on being dramatic…” He turns to you, his eyes narrowing in thought. “You. Are you willing to try the skincare regimen in his place?”

“Me?” You blink, startled.

Epel perks up from behind the couch. “YES. TAKE THEM!”

Vil tilts his head. “If you’re willing, I’m confident I can achieve better results from a subject who isn’t fighting me at every turn.”

You shrug. “Sure, why not?”

Before you can fully comprehend what’s happening, Vil has looped an arm through yours, gracefully pulling you out the door. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

Epel waves dramatically from the window. “Bless ya, Prefect! I owe ya big time!”

Grim just yells after you, “DON’T LET HIM TURN YA INTO A SNAIL!”

Pomefiore is somehow both intimidating and gorgeous at night, much like Vil himself. He leads you to a lavishly decorated room that smells faintly of lavender and something you can’t quite place but know costs more than your monthly groceries.

Vil gestures for you to sit, and you do, feeling slightly like a sacrificial lamb.

“This won’t hurt,” he says smoothly, rolling up his sleeves. “Now, sit still.”

You expect him to just slap some moisturizer on your face and call it a day, but no. Vil moves with precision and care, his fingers brushing gently over your skin as he applies cleanser, toner, and a series of serums that feel more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned.

“This feels… nice,” you mumble, your eyelids growing heavier.

Vil hums, clearly pleased with himself. “Of course it does. Skincare is an art.”

Somewhere between step five and six, you lose the battle against sleep, dozing off in the chair.

You stir awake to find Vil leaning over you, his gaze soft and almost… fond. He’s saying something about your skin glowing, but you’re too distracted by the feeling of being watched so intently.

“Vil?” you murmur groggily.

“Yes?” he replies, his voice softer than usual.

Your eyes narrow slightly as you sit up, noticing something on your cheek. “Uh… did you kiss me?”

Vil freezes for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough. His usual composure slips, and he hurriedly swipes at your cheek with a handkerchief. “Don’t be absurd,” he says, but his tone is unusually flustered.

Except.

You glance at his lips, where the faintest smudge of lipstick is visible. “Riiiiiight.”

Vil notices where your gaze has landed and turns away, busying himself with the jars on the counter. “You’re imagining things.”

You smile, a teasing glint in your eye. “If you say so.”

But as he ushers you out of Pomefiore with a distracted wave and a faint blush dusting his cheeks, you know you’ve won this round.

The morning starts off with a buzz of activity at the botanical gardens. Vil, ever the professional, has arranged an elaborate photoshoot in the serene greenery. Props were meticulously placed, outfits were prepared, and lighting setups were already stationed. Vil even allowed himself to feel something akin to satisfaction.

That is, until afternoon rolls around.

Unbeknownst to Vil, the chaos trio (Ace, Deuce, Grim) and Jack had wandered into the gardens earlier for what they dubbed “a little harmless fun.” What they actually managed to do was:

Accidentally tip over a giant fountain while trying to see if Grim could swim (spoiler alert: he can’t).

Start a “friendly” game of tag that ended with Ace tripping over a prop table, sending vases and floral arrangements flying like shrapnel.

Release a flock of doves intended for Vil’s grand finale by opening the wrong cage ("I wanted to see if they could do tricks!" Ace insists as Deuce facepalms).

Grim, somehow, set a bush on fire. Jack put it out, but the smell of burnt shrubbery lingers ominously in the air.

By the time Vil arrives, the scene looks like a tornado hit. The once-pristine gardens are a disaster zone. Props are broken, flowers are trampled, and there's a trail of muddy footprints leading in every direction.

Vil steps into the carnage, his designer boots squelching in mud. His expression is eerily calm at first, but the sharp inhale he takes speaks volumes. He surveys the devastation with a look that could wilt the few surviving flowers.

“My vision,” he whispers, his voice tight with suppressed rage.

You stand beside him, trying not to laugh because you’ve never seen him this close to a meltdown.

“Vil,” you say cautiously, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s not that bad—”

“Not that bad?!” he snaps, whirling on you. “Look around! This isn’t a photoshoot location; it’s a war zone!”

From the corner of your eye, you spot Cater peeking in, phone out, clearly recording the unfolding drama. You make a mental note to confiscate it later.

Vil pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself, “I should have known better. Trusting anything to others. Utter folly.”

“You’re gonna burst a blood vessel,” you warn him, earning a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“Alright, alright,” you say, rolling up your sleeves. “Stop sulking and help me salvage this.”

Vil blinks at you, incredulous. “Salvage? You can’t possibly—”

“Watch me.”

With that, you march into the chaos. You grab what props can be salvaged, rearrange a few backdrops, and even craft makeshift decorations out of the remaining flowers and ribbons.

Vil watches in stunned silence as you hustle, barking orders at a very confused Sebek, who you dragged out of the equestrian club to help.

“Sebek, I need that saddle cleaned now!” you shout.

Sebek grumbles, muttering something about “desecrating noble horse equipment for frivolity,” but obeys when you glare at him.

Within the hour, you’ve transformed a patch of ruined garden into a new set: a rustic, equestrian-inspired photoshoot featuring horses. Vil looks around, stunned, as you pat one of the horses on the neck.

“Well?” you say, wiping sweat from your brow. “It’s not the flower themed you started off with, but it’ll work, right?”

Vil stares at you, a strange softness in his eyes. “...It’s perfect.”

The photoshoot goes off without a hitch. Vil looks flawless as ever, draped elegantly across a horse in one shot and holding its reins with regal authority in another. You even manage to convince Sebek to lend Vil his equestrian jacket for a dramatic flair.

As you predicted, the photos break the internet. The combination of Vil Schoenheit and majestic horses sends fans into a frenzy. “A SUPERMODEL AND HORSES??? THE WORLD ISN’T READY FOR THIS!” one comment reads.

But what really goes viral isn’t the official photos. It’s a video Cater secretly took of Vil watching you as you worked to save the shoot.

In the video, Vil stands in the background, holding a bouquet prop. His usual composed expression is nowhere to be seen—he’s looking at you with undisguised fondness, like you’re the only person in the world. The caption?

“The real shoot is happening behind the scenes #VilSmittenheit”

When you show Vil the video later, he groans and buries his face in his hands. “Of course Cater would...”

But you just smile, because even Vil can’t deny the truth caught on camera.

The potionology exam looms like a thundercloud, and you’ve made the questionable decision to study with the first-year gang. It feels like babysitting a tornado of chaos.

You’ve got your notebook out, ready to tackle the mysteries of potion ratios and ingredient compatibility. Then you look up.

Ace, Deuce, and Grim are locked in a heated debate over whether it’s morally acceptable to substitute powdered phoenix feather with breadcrumbs.

“Grim, breadcrumbs aren’t even magical!” Jack groans, rubbing his temples.

Grim huffs, waving a paw dismissively. “It’s got crunch! Everything’s better with crunch!”

“Breadcrumbs in a potion?!” Sebek barks, slamming his fist on the table. “Such idiocy would never occur in Lord Malleus’s presence! Do you know the kind of potions he could make? Far superior to this nonsense!”

Epel, slouched in his chair, mutters, “What’s the point of potionology when you can just punch your problems or fly away?”

“Guys,” Jack says, his patience clearly thinning. “We need to focus! We’re all going to fail if we don’t—”

“I’M NOT FAILING!” Sebek bellows.

“Then stop talking about Malleus for five minutes!” Ace snaps.

You close your notebook. You know when to admit defeat. You’re getting nothing done here.

Plan B: The Vil Schoenheit Method

You march straight to Vil in Pomefiore. He’s seated in his lavish lounge, sipping tea and reading a book on advanced alchemical techniques that makes your brain hurt just by looking at it.

“Vil, help me,” you say, dropping dramatically to your knees like you’re auditioning for a tragedy. “I’m going to flunk potionology, and I can’t rely on Ace, Deuce, or Grim because they’ve got the collective intelligence of a soggy paper towel.”

Vil arches an eyebrow, clearly amused. “And why should I help you?”

“Because you’re the best potionologist I know,” you plead. “And because I’ll owe you one. A big one. I’ll even—” You pause for dramatic effect. “—tell you where Epel is when he runs away.”

Vil narrows his eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere, but your desperation is mildly entertaining. Fine. But I won’t go easy on you.”

You gulp.

Vil is intense. He doesn’t just teach you potionology; he micromanages your existence.

“Back straight,” he snaps, tapping your spine with a ruler. “You’re hunched over like a gremlin. And stop stirring like you’re mixing pancake batter. Precision is key!”

You mutter something about gremlins under your breath, but Vil hears it. “I can make this more difficult if you’d like,” he says with a sweet yet menacing smile.

He quizzes you relentlessly, correcting every little mistake with the sharpness of a dagger. “If you confuse Mandrake extract with Mandragora root one more time, I’ll have Rook carry you back to Ramshackle while reciting a poem about your incompetence.”

But by the end of it, you’ve actually learned. You’re tired, your hands smell like sulfur, and your posture is permanently straightened, but you’ve learned.

You ace the exam. You don’t just pass; you get one of the highest scores in the class.

“THAT’S MY HENCHHUMAN!” Grim crows, puffing his chest out like he took the test himself. “We’re unstoppable!”

Ace and Deuce, however, are staring at you like you’ve just revealed you’re a double agent.

“You went to Vil for help?!” Ace squawks. “That’s betrayal! Treason! You’re a traitor to the First-Year Study Group™!”

“You think you know someone,” Deuce adds solemnly, shaking his head.

“It’s not my fault you two were trying to use breadcrumbs in a potion!” you fire back.

“That’s not the point!”

Ignoring their melodrama, you bolt to Pomefiore to thank Vil.

Vil is sitting by the window, gazing out at the gardens with a cup of tea in hand. He looks up as you burst in, all smiles and gratitude.

“Vil!” you exclaim, practically skipping toward him. “I passed! Thank you so much!”

He raises an elegant eyebrow. “Of course you did. I wasn’t about to waste my time on a lost cause.”

You throw your arms around him in a quick, impulsive hug. “You’re amazing, seriously. I’ll thank you properly later, but for now—” You lean up and kiss him on the cheek. “You’re the best.”

Before Vil can react, you’re already sprinting out the door, leaving him sitting there with a stunned expression.

Moments later, Rook appears, materializing like the cryptid he is. “Ah, Roi du Poison,” he coos, his smile wicked. “You’re absolutely smitten, aren’t you?”

Vil sighs, shaking his head, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Be quiet, Rook.”

“Ah, silence is the language of love!” Rook declares dramatically. “But your face says it all! Mon dieu, how adorable.”

Vil doesn’t even bother denying it. He simply takes another sip of tea, thinking of your smile.

It’s 4 a.m. The witching hour. You’re blissfully cocooned in your blankets, dreaming of peaceful, non-chaotic things, when a sharp tap tap tap jolts you from your slumber. At first, you think it’s your imagination, but the tapping persists, growing louder and more insistent. You crack open one groggy eye, then the other. You blink at the sound’s source.

Your window.

“Window?” you mumble in confusion, still half-asleep. Then you see him. Rook Hunt. Perched precariously on the ledge like some kind of medieval gargoyle but with better fashion sense. He’s waving at you with such enthusiasm you’d think he were auditioning for a cheerleading squad.

Your brain, still booting up, goes: Of course. This is perfectly normal.

Then, a second later: WAIT A MINUTE—WHAT?!

“Rook?” you hiss-whisper, stumbling to the window. “Why are you—” You stop mid-sentence because his face is a mask of sheer panic. “What’s wrong?”

He places a dramatic hand on his chest, his voice trembling with urgency. “Mon amie! It is an emergency of the highest order!”

Heart pounding, you throw open the window. “What happened?! Is someone hurt?! Did something explode?! Is Vil—”

Rook nods gravely. “It is Roi du Poison.”

Your stomach plummets. He doesn’t have to say anything more. If something’s wrong with Vil, you’re going to help. You’re his friend, his confidant, his designated earplug during Rook’s poetic soliloquies.

You don’t hesitate; you grab your coat and shoes and sprint out the door, trailing after Rook, who somehow manages to make a full-on run look like a choreographed ballet.

The journey to Pomefiore is a blur of panic and adrenaline. You’re preparing yourself for the worst. Was Vil poisoned? Did he collapse during some over-the-top skincare ritual? Is it gasp the end of his perfect reign? By the time you burst into Vil’s room, you’re practically on the verge of tears.

“Vil!” you cry, rushing to his bedside. “Are you okay? What’s happening?!”

Vil, propped up against a mountain of silk covered pillows, looks up from his tissue box, pale but undeniably still Vil. His expression is unimpressed, though there’s a faint red tinge to his nose that he’d probably die before admitting to.

“I have a cold,” he says flatly, voice slightly nasal.

You blink. Once. Twice. You slowly turn to look at Rook, who is leaning dramatically against the doorway, one hand over his heart like he’s auditioning for Hamlet.

“A cold?” you echo.

Rook nods solemnly. “Oui! But what is a mere cold to a shining star like Vil? Even the smallest ailment feels like a tragedy!”

Without breaking eye contact, you grab a tissue from Vil’s nightstand and throw it at Rook’s head. He catches it mid-air with a flourish.

“I thought he was dying!” you snap, your voice somewhere between exhausted and hysterical.

Vil sighs deeply, like you’re all inconveniencing him. “Well, I feel like I’m dying,” he mutters, reaching for another tissue with the elegance of a dying swan.

Despite wanting to throttle both Vil and Rook, you stay. Because deep down, you care about Vil (and because Rook is lurking in the shadows, making escape impossible). Armed with tissues, herbal tea, and the resolve of a saint, you declare yourself Vil’s official nurse.

“Do you need anything?” you ask, pulling a blanket higher up his shoulders.

Vil sniffs. “I need… another pillow. This one is too flat.”

You grab another pillow and fluff it to perfection. “Better?”

“No, this one is too fluffy.”

You fight the urge to scream. But you adjust the pillow again. And again. And again.

Moments later:

“This tea is too hot.” You cool it.

“This tea is too cold.” You reheat it.

“This lighting is too harsh.” You dim it.

“This lighting is too dim.” You—wait, what??

For hours, you cater to his every whim with the patience of a saint. Vil complains about the temperature, his blanket, the angle of his tissue box. He’s fussy, demanding, and dramatic, but you take it all in stride.

Why? Because deep down, you know he’d never ask for help unless he really needed it. And because Vil, even at his most irritating, is still someone you care about. Maybe even have a crush on but that's a problem for future you.

Rook occasionally pops in to offer poetic encouragement. You ignore him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Vil falls asleep, his perfect features soft and peaceful. You, however, collapse on the couch in the corner of the room, absolutely spent.

The next morning, Vil wakes up feeling… better. His fever has broken, his headache has subsided, and for the first time in days, he doesn’t feel like his body is actively rebelling against him. He sits up and looks around, finding you passed out on the couch, still clutching a crumpled tissue in one hand.

He notices the dark circles under your eyes, the way you’re curled up in an awkward position, the slight shiver in your frame from not having a blanket. And for the first time, Vil feels something unfamiliar. Guilt. And a deep affection.

As the morning light filters into the room, he glances at you one last time, his expression softening. “Once I recover,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible, “I’ll tell you.”

And with that, Vil Schoenheit makes a silent vow. The next time you nurse him through anything, it will be with him as your devoted partner—and not because of a misunderstanding orchestrated by a certain overdramatic huntsman.

It hits you like a truck in the middle of class: you’re in love with Vil Schoenheit.

Not a crush, not admiration—you’re down horrendous. Butterflies are doing pirouettes in your stomach every time he talks to you, and his slightest smile makes you feel like you’ve been hit by a blinding spotlight.

You try denial. (“It’s just his aura. He does this to everyone!”) You try avoidance. (“If I don’t look at him, I can’t fall harder, right?”) But none of it works. Every time he critiques your posture or gives you that sly smirk, it’s game over.

Finally, you give in. “Okay, fine! I’ll confess!” you announce to Grim, who’s lounging on the couch.

“Good luck,” Grim snickers. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

“I am about to be sick!” you shriek. “This is Vil! What if he laughs? What if he just… stares at me in that terrifying way he does when Epel says something stupid?”

“Then I’ll eat your dinner as consolation,” Grim says, ever supportive.

You prepare like your life depends on it.

Step One: Flowers. You pick out the most gorgeous bouquet, ones that practically scream, I’m hopelessly in love with you, please don’t let me die of embarrassment.

Step Two: A handwritten card. You pour your heart onto the paper with the eloquence of a poet. “You’re incredible,” you write. “Not just because you’re beautiful, but because of your strength, your kindness, and the way you inspire everyone around you. I… I love you.” You almost combust just writing it.

Step Three: Look your best. You pick an outfit that’s just shy of trying too hard and hope it’s enough to make you look like someone worthy of confessing to Vil Schoenheit.

“Alright,” you say, holding your bouquet like it’s a shield. “Here goes nothing.”

“Don’t trip and fall on your face!” Grim calls after you.

You’re halfway to Pomefiore, sweating bullets and trying to remember how to breathe, when you see him.

Vil is walking toward you, dressed impeccably as always, carrying… a bouquet of his own?

Your heart skips several beats, and you’re suddenly extremely nervous—the kind of nervous that makes your palms sweat, your knees weak, and your brain do somersaults. You feel like a malfunctioning automaton.

“Oh,” Vil says, his gaze locking onto you. He stops a few feet away, his eyes flickering between you and the bouquet in your hands. “Out for a stroll?”

“Y-Yeah,” you stammer, gripping your flowers tighter.

Vil tilts his head slightly, and you swear he looks… annoyed? “And the flowers?” he asks, his tone calm but sharp, like a scalpel. “A gift for someone special, perhaps?”

You freeze. “Uh—”

Before you can answer, Vil’s gaze shifts to the card sticking out of your bouquet. He reaches out and plucks it before you can stop him. Your soul briefly leaves your body.

He reads it silently, his face betraying nothing, until—

“Oh.”

His tone is quiet, and you’re horrified to see a flicker of heartbreak in his expression. “I see.”

“Wait! It’s not what it looks like!” you blurt, waving your hand like a maniac. “The flowers are for you! The card is for you! I just… forgot to sign it.”

Vil blinks, his lips parting slightly in surprise. Then, to your immense relief, he chuckles—a soft, melodic sound that sends your heart into a frenzy. “You forgot to sign it?” he repeats, amused.

You nod vigorously, clutching the bouquet like your life depends on it. “I was too busy panicking, okay?!”

Vil shakes his head, his smile widening. “Of course. Only you would confess in such a manner.” He steps closer, his own bouquet now visible. “It seems we had the same idea today.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what he means. “Wait… those flowers…?”

“For you,” Vil says simply. “Though I’ll admit, for a moment, I thought they might be unnecessary.”

You stare at each other, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. Then, Vil takes your bouquet from your trembling hands and replaces it with his own.

“They suit you better,” he murmurs.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, he leans in and presses his lips softly against yours.

The world seems to blur around you, and all you can feel is Vil—his warmth, his scent, the tenderness of his touch. When he pulls back, he’s smiling at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky.

“Let’s not wait so long to be honest with each other next time,” he says softly.

You nod, dazed and giddy. “Y-Yeah, totally.”

As he intertwines his fingers with yours, leading you back toward Ramshackle, you realize one thing: The first year gang is never going to let you live this down.

But to be honest, you really don’t care. Not when Vil Schoenheit is looking at you like you're the only ones left on the planet.

1k Masterlist ; Main Masterlist

[skreebat]

The OUAW brain rot continues.

I love their designs! And I wanted to have a little fun figuring out how I want to draw them, with my own little tweaks and self indulgent details. :)

Originally, I only meant to draw Frost, to figure out what kind of body type I wanted to give him. Then I ended up drawing the whole part, partially as a reference to myself. Also got their canon heights on a chart and put them all together for fun and for reference. c:

Some design tweak notes under the cut, if anyone’s curious! These aren’t redesigns or whatever, I just had some ideas in mind while sketching them in a way that fits my art style.

Design notes copied directly from my server:

🔥Gid THICK BOY. He's not really a bodybuilder but he exercises and is very muscular. And he eats! A lot. So, thick boy. Scars from all the fighting. The wrists and ankles are because of his past.

I like giving his hair and beard a lot more fire. Body hair also glows fiery, it's just less bright.

🐊Kremy I figure he's the skinniest of the group after Torbek. Most of what I did is a happy medium between references of alligators, the official art, and just my art style. Mostly game him scale patterns, more alligator-like feet, and changed the tail a bit, but it's hard to tell from this angle. Not much body definition because he's a squishy magic user and a gator lol

🐯Frost Fit but not defined. Kinda thick-ish, since he's a tiger, so there's loser skin and thick layer of fur. Digitigrade because I say so.

☹️Torbek Not much changed, mostly gave him more tubes, gave him bald patches where they connect to his skin (and didn't make those are infected looking as I imagine tbh), made him fuzzier, and gave him bigger ears because I like em. Also you can't see it in this angle but I like giving him a small fuzzy tail.

🐾Gricko Fit arms, but he doesn't exercise, so he gets a bit of a tummy. Scars because of his interest in monsters, and his various accidents. Wilder hair. Freckles and moles because I say so. Decorated hair (including feathers from Hootsie!)

🍄Twig Not much really?? Went by her description, the plushie and an emote of her that exists. Made her chubbier because I wanna. Originally made her hair all curls…might go back to that. Also freckles because cute.

Do you have your own headcanons for details of what they look like? :)

-- [BTW I do commissions]

[sweetflanfiction]

Assymetrical Symphony - Part 12

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N: Still on vacations!

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10

• ··········· • ············ •

In a very proficient succession of moves, Viktor had grabbed his keys from his bag, locked the front door—something he wasn’t supposed to do because of the council’s shenanigans, but Viktor hardly ever did what he was told—and had opened the door, holding it open for you.

Shaking your head at his antics, you made your way to the room and short of going inside. A butterfly had flapped its wings somewhere down the space and time lines, and what was once a spacious room was now nothing more than a broom closet.

“I know it is not ideal, but…it’s this or the hexcore room.” You heard behind you and cleared your throat.

“This is… um… fine…” You nodded and walked to the back of the room, which was exactly a small step forward, and turned back to the door.

Viktor walked behind you and closed the door, leaving both of you in darkness. He shuffled to get himself in a comfortable standing position, his cane leaning on the shelf behind you.

You knew if you could see anything but the soft glow of the room outside from under the door, you’d be face to face with his chin, having to still tilt your head up to look at him whenever you were in close quarters. You shook your head and cleared your throat to get your mind back on track. He took half a step back, completely oblivious of your thoughts, and you did the same, the shelves behind you carving a dent into your back. 

“Alright. The baseline for your starlight rune is about fifteen minutes.”

“Starlight rune?”

“I told you I wasn’t good with names…Do the rune with the new variant.”

The glove came off with a practiced tug, and the small room was slightly illuminated by the blue glow. You saw Viktor's hand immediately shoot up to touch it again, his never-ending curiosity getting the best of him. Your hand twitched in anticipation of the contact, and he stopped short of actually touching it.

“Sorry, it’s not you…it’s…” You started but couldn’t finish when you realized that it was in fact because of him.

“Don’t worry. It’s my fault…Learn not to touch anything before checking it’s safe... Truly, it’s the worst... I have a few scars to show for it.” He used the glow of your hand to touch a few small scars on his palm.

SVRCINA - Astronomical

You laughed quietly, tracing the rune for the tiny lights in the air, adding the small symbol on the top right of it. A flick of the wrist and up they went. Viktor tapped his fingers on his thigh, counting the time, his neck stretched up to look at the ceiling.

The endlessness of darkness is hovering. The sound of the silence is deafening. Ten billion decibels shattering

The opportunity presented itself to look at him in detail. On the forefront of your mind was the need to find any difference from your Viktor. On the back of it, the hope that there was none. 

The shimmering lights gave his already pale skin an even white tinge, but you could see the small freckles and skin marks he had running behind the collar of his shirt. His jaw was still sharp and angled, and his cheeks high; you peeked at the beauty mark under his eyes, and he still chewed on the inside of his mouth when he was thinking hard. Your eyes shifted down to take notice of his breathing. Closing your eyes, you listened to it. Clean, no wheezing, no strain. 

I'm drawn to the unknown where shadows hide. A slave to the powers that magnetize There's something inside of me I can't fight.

The smell of mint and cinnamon filled your nostrils. You had forgotten the height difference, the gentle way his breathing would make his chest rise and fall on his better days. You’d forgotten the time before he became consumed with legacy. You’d forgotten he was once flesh and blood and warmth.

You heard the shift in breathing before you heard the quiet laugh and looked up at him. True to his word, he had a hand outstretched, touching the tiny specks of light floating above you.

Weightlessness forsaking me. This pull is astronomical.

“Fascinating.” He murmured, his long fingers swirling around the shimmer. “It’s cold, but…not unpleasant.”

Viktor’s smile never faltered, a pleasant sound coming from his throat. The floating orbs just floated around the tips of his fingers, like smoke around a tree branch.

He moved his fingers to grab one of the lights, and your breath got caught in your throat. You really should stop him, but the gentleness of his long fingers as he swirled them around the smoke, nudging the smaller nodes away to grab a bigger one, left you hypnotized and mute.

Viktor’s fist closed around a glowing marble, and it burst like a soap bubble, breaking into tiny wisps of glitter and regrouping again after they passed his fist.

Can anybody... Anybody... Can anybody stop me?

You looked at his face; the usually warm golden eyes have taken a paler palette with the white cold light reflecting on them. His lips were curled up in a soft, wondrous smile that reminded you of a child; his long neck was stretched upwards, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed his amusement. It was new... this was new...

It hit you like a ton of bricks that even though you’d seen this man in almost any state of mind, this childish wonder was something you never noticed. You were far more preoccupied with keeping him alive than finding something that gave him this type of feeling. Even if in the end, whatever feelings he had were gone.

Ooh, this pull is astronomical.

“You’re staring again…” He snickered, and you nodded.

“You remind me of someone…” 

“Hopefully a good someone…”He looked down and smirked at you.

“Heh…He had his moments... You cleared your throat. "Shall we test the other theory perhaps?”

Viktor nodded and had once again craned his neck upwards. You did the rune and added the coda symbol on the same corner as the infinity symbol and flicked your wrist up.

The rune disappeared, but the stars stayed. You both locked eyes with each other and then looked at your hand, as if it was to blame for the lackluster results.

“Maybe it’s the symbol? Or the intention?”

“Perhaps…what have you been setting as the intention for this one?”

“Just…light up. The first time it appeared, I was in a dark room, so light seemed the best option.”

“Maybe think…dark…or…off.”

Shaking your shoulder to release some tension, you drew the rune, drew the coda, and set it free with a very defined 'turn the light off' intention.

“Rune… intention… push forward…” Viktor repeated, his eyes darting around the darkened room. “Rune…intention…push forward…”

“I could try other symbols…”

He nodded, and you started to add symbols to the rune. An exclamation point, a dot, two dots, an X, the actual word STOP. But nothing seemed to be the floating little light from floating.

“You push it forward…” He raised a hand and placed it next to yours, palm up. The glow of your hand casting a light on the side of his hand

He drew the rune with his index and middle fingers and flicked the wrist up. By the third time he did it, you mirrored his movements, you drew the rune and the suffix you had initially given it, and flicked it up. Nothing.

The small blue brush strokes grew in brightness as you finished the drawing. The rune itself was a dainty thing, swirly with a loop and a dash. It was your favorite rune to draw, you thought at that moment.

“Rune…intention…push it forward.” You both whispered in sync as your hands danced in well-choreographed movements.

“Of course…” You heard Viktor exclaim and looked up at him, but his eyes were still on your hands.

He turned his hand so that it was hovering on top of yours without touching, his long fingers by your wrist, yours under his own joint. He drew the rune, like he was stroking your wrist. A shiver ran down your arm, but you mimicked him like before and drew your own rune. When you flicked your hand up, your fingers touched his wrist with a soft thud, but his hand did the opposite movement; instead of moving downwards—since he was mirroring your movements—he pulled back, his hand arching back.

“It makes sense…you speak the rune…” He made the motion again, you repeated. “You set the intent and…”

You both snapped your hands backwards. The rune shimmered, and the floating lights shot towards your hand, leaving the room in darkness in a blink of an eye, the only sound the slight heavy breathing from the sudden shift in brightness.

"You pull it back." Viktor whispered. 

"That's..." You thought about saying smart, but this was Viktor, one of the most intelligent people you've met.

"Unlike words, once you speak the runes, you can take them back, and everything goes back to normal."

"Words can be taken back." You said, moving your hand up and feeling his wrist still hovering there. 

You let your fingers touch his wrist, gently flattening them against his skin, your thumb softly grasping his forearm. You felt his own hand rest on top of yours. You could see the blue light engulfing his hand.

"They hurt all the same." He softly whispered.

"Pains and aches, eh?" You heard him chuckle. "The mending rune... I can sustain it now. Imagine being able to keep something from breaking."

"You have to be careful. Magic is not free. There will be a toll to pay.” His voice shifted and something mechanical. 

“I’m actually doing this…I’m learning... and adapting... and”

“Evolving…” A mechanical low voice came from where he was, but you didn’t feel it like last time.

“What?” Your eyes snapped up to where his should be.

“What?” He looked at you confused, and you shook your head, dismissing it.

A second of silence until you heard a quiet laugh come from him.

“This is... real magic. It’s just like we thought. Exactly like we thought. The books were right. The hextech is an almost exact copy of what actual magic is.” 

“Viktor…breathe…”

“I’m breathing…I’m breathing..." He moved his hand away, pushing a hand through his hair. "We are finding ways to control wild runes.”

“Don’t look wild to me. That one actually looked like it was meticulously drawn.”

“They are wild because they are natural, not because they are unpredictable.” He grabbed the door handle with one hand, his cane with the other, and pushed the door open. “I need to write this down.”

He was halfway out the door when he stopped abruptly, and you managed to stop just in time by placing your hands on his back, almost throwing him off balance and to the floor. A hand on his elbow balanced him out.

“Good gods, Vik… What the..." You started but then looked at what—or who—was staring at.

“You two kids wanna to tell me why you were inside a dark closet?” Jayce inquired, his lips curling up on one side, his eyebrow going up on the same side.

Viktor straightened up quickly, and you did the same, more flustered about the almost tumble than Jayce’s questions. 

“Nothing.” Viktor quickly answered

“Magic.” You said at the same time, with the taller man’s face snapping to yours, mouth agape at your nonchalant tone.

“What?” You shrugged as you walked past him to the table.

“What kind of magic?” Jayce’s eyebrows wiggled suggestively. 

“Jayce!” Viktor, whose gaze had been following you around the room, snapped to Jayce.

“The actual magical kind.” You pulled the glove back on your hand. “The rune one.”

“Oh…eh…that’s fun too, I guess.” The broader man shrugged.

“How’s Mel?” You retorted.

“Magical…” He sighed and then winked at you.

You looked at him, face blank, and shook your head; he gave a goofy lovesick smile, and you groaned dramatically to emphasize you were joking.

“She does have some news for us about the council…shenanigans…” Jayce straightened up and leaned on the table.

“No…no…nonono.” Viktor shook his head and strode towards both of you, a small scowl of confusion on his face. “We are not just going to breeze by this… What is happening…? When did this happen?”

Jayce looked between Viktor, you, and then pointed to himself.

“Kid who jumped places because a mage decided to save his life…” He pointed at you. “Actual Mage.”

You were happy that he didn’t add the rest of his sentence about you.

“Wait…they know about the…happening?” Viktor looked at Jayce with wide eyes.

“They do.” Jayce nodded, and Viktor turned his eyes to you.

“And he knows about the runes?”

“He does.”

Viktor looked at the ceiling of the lab, taking a deep breath, while these pieces of information all fit in his head. When he was satisfied, he looked back down to you and Jayce, nodding. 

“All right… all right…” He walked over to where Jayce was leaning on the table and you were seated on a stool. “What did Mel say?”

“They have a date for the council meeting.”

• ············ • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat

[darkdemeter]

MY SUMMONING

⚤ College student!Wanda Maximoff x GN/Female/Male demon Werewolf!Reader 18+ SMUT, MDNI — (gn/f/m) reader with a dick — monster fucking — female oral receiving — long demon monster tongue can do many things — unprotected p in v sex — some profanity — *cough* laundry mutt!reader — I think that's it? ✎ 4.5k Reincarnated love can be a bitch when you're stuffed into an ancient pocket dimension for thousands of years because the peasants reviled and scorned you. How you've yearned to return to her, promising that one day you shall join her side again as her faithful, shadowed acolyte. Now awoken to reunite with your master on the night where her magic is most potent to release you from your prison, you're summoned by her... but not her. No matter. A lover is a lover, and your love is eternally devoted to her. Now to consummate it at long last.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

No. There was no way this is happening. No way! This was all meant to be some stupid little joke… 

Alright, maybe dabbling in the assortments of witchcraft and old leather-bound tomes written in an ancient language wasn’t the best of pranks to pull, but it was Halloween and Wanda wanted to have her own fun tonight. 

She doesn’t have to read the room hard to know she was practically fifth wheeling through her Halloween night. Steve and Peggy, the all-dream couple on campus, while Bucky and Nat were in the beginning prime of their relationship. Yes, both were pretty popular and many people thought their couplings adorable — if not envious of the partner — but Wanda couldn’t help but feel like an outcast all night long. She’s been following them around, attending a party or two, getting up to crazy shenanigans that ought to land them all a night behind bars until bail.

No. Wanda Maximoff, one of the brightest students in her major’s class, likes to dabble in… odd things. Peggy and Nat both knew of this certain attraction of hers, but it had been a rather closely guarded secret until now.

Breaking into the old burnt down chapel off the corner of Main Street, surrounded by the old, white picket fence, hadn’t seemed like a half-bad idea. 

All fun and games until Wanda approached the podium where a dusty casing of leather sat, singed but untouched by the long forgotten fire. The yellowed, toughened skin of parchment paper crackled and rumpled with each turn over, her green eyes almost glowing with renewed fascination. She stopped at the book’s center when something caught her attention. Her eyes slip to widen a little at the sketching of a large, looming form of a wolf creature whose entire head bears only its skull, standing on its hind legs behind the regal figure of a loosely-clad robed woman. The image itself was intimately intoxicating to look upon. Something about it was pulling her to silently read over the daggered calligraphy. The woman’s illustrated body conveys what her drawn features lack; a postured body of contentment. Security. Lustful wanting. 

And the tall creature before her stood proudly. Protectively. Equally wanting and willing. 

The soft pad of her finger runs over the drawing, stroking the blackened detailing of the fur and skull face. Blooming deep in her abandoned, she feels that awakened need that begins to throb between her thighs and forces them to push together quickly, embarrassed with a warm glow in her cheeks. 

While Peggy had urged that she leave the book and its ominous being there alone, she had been outranked by the other three who egged her on.

How could she say no? What harm could come from an obvious prop of the occult? As if a place so holy could harbour anything dangerous. With a cheeky grin, eyes slowly moving back and forth between her friends and the page she read from, she began to read aloud the incantation. 

Before the very collective eyes of four witnesses, the surrounding candles sizzled with rekindled life, a singular flame dancing on each blackened wick before it would throb dimly in their warm arousement. A copied sensation Wanda felt herself able to relate to. 

“Wanda…” Peggy whimpers, unsure. Steve only pulled her closer to him but made no intent in stopping Wanda as she continued to recite the chant. 

The old chapel is awakened with a deadly, hollow breath, howling ominously in a deep and thunderous wind that travels through the marrow of bones and tenses the muscles. The air eagerly lapped and ravished at them, as if tasting them on its non-existent tongue. 

The rattle of the ancient, relic urns chattered on their shelves beneath a baritone of a rumble that became suspiciously familiar to a growl, that of a predatory beast. Wanda’s hair whipped around to almost blinding her vision but she feels like she’s incapable to stop, that whatever force pulled her in the first place has full control over her, that even if she wanted to — and she doesn’t — she couldn’t stop. 

Not until her words and voice enunciate the final lyric of whatever summoning spell she reads. 

“Come hither, loyal acolyte, silhouette and blackened, come back to your vengeful pedestal upon the earth — I beckon you from your voided prison, answer my summoning!”

Behind the knowledge of Wanda’s awareness, the visage of an animal skull formed in a smoky apparition finally pushed her friends to flee.

“Fuck this!” Bucky shouts, pulling Natasha with him until his grip is white knuckled around her wrist. Steve mimics the action and sentiment with Peggy. Each of their screams joined the territorial growls and roars as they ran to the cellar’s exit. 

“Wait—!” Wanda’s hand stretches out, gripping for her friends pleadingly only for the cellar door to boom loudly as the doors slam to a close. 

The air feels cold around her yet so thickly laced, it shrouded her in darkness despite the many candles lit around her. Behind her, tendrils of grappling mist form into spiraling columns that wrap and weave together into a crafting tower, silent with a voice she hears as a mere whisper. Your fur manifests in this realm with a bristled motion and your ears immediately twitch, perking up at each minute breath she utters in her shell-shocked state. 

Your master.

Oh, how long it has been since you last graced her beauty, her powerful aura and taken her into your enveloping hold. For too long she has been away from you. A tiny, coiled rasp akin to a curious, predatory purr emits from the chasm of your large chest. 

Wanda’s voice feels raw, stretched thinly by the grimoire’s spell and her hand delicately moves to pet and stroke it but a figment of lithe, cold clawed fingers beat her to it. 

A gasp hiccups in her throat as her head is tilted back slowly. Her eyes meet glowing balls of flame within the hollow frame of shallow eye sockets. A chiseled and grizzly face of a skull decorated with small cracks and a gaping maw revealing the serrated blades of teeth, moistened with an oily slick from a long, black limb of a tongue. 

No way…

You make the sound of that grinding, off-note purr again, louder to reach her ears. “Milenec…”

Odd as it was to feel an inkling of acknowledgement to the term. It sounds so… endearing. Like she’s heard it before but not in this lifetime. The aspect of a time before her existence here and now is brought into question immediately. 

“Y-you can talk…” she chokes out through a whispered breath, “What are you?”

“Milenec…  it  is  me.” You let her slip from your grasp where she stumbles back, the rise of her heels clobbering against the cellar flooring like loud cracks of thunder. Your body moves unlike any natural thing on this earth. It contorts, twisting and bending in places that shouldn’t. 

You body arcs and crosses over the podium with slinking ease, the wispy nature of your fur bellows in airy streams akin to the warp of fire and your long tail follows you as a trail of smoke; your body pushed and pulled like a magnetic charge between this realm and the next, there are forces at work that attempt to banish you and hold you grounded here. 

“Don’t  you  remember  me?” 

“I don’t understand,” Wanda mutters. With a tilt of your large head that furls your ears with a flop, you speak with a guttural enunciation. “You  freed  me,  Master. For  so  long  I’ve  waited,  trapped  in  the  void. But  you  kept  your  word. You  summoned  me.”

“I-I… that was… that was just a joke, I d-didn’t mean to—”

“But  you  did.” Low and unwavering is your tone, musing to and fro within the fabrication of vocalisation. 

You stalk closer until the bony bridge of your skull bows down to meet her at eye level. “And  now  we  can  finally  be  together…”

“Properly…  consummate  our  love.” 

What?

Wanda stumbles back, nearly caving in on her heel in her blind stun but the shadowy appendage of your tail wraps her and draws her in closer so that her breasts meet the glistening grotesque of your tongue. 

Long and expressive, it explores the exposure of her cleavage, tasting the warm dew of her skin and a thrumming growl rattles in your ribcage like bones being shaken in a hollow encasement. 

With a quivering breath, Wanda sighs, caught in the midst of this awakened desire and her need to get away. “I’m not—Ah… who you think I am…”

Pulling away and bumping the skinless mouth of your face against her cheek, you huff. The tattered, darkened rings hidden deep within the sockets of the skull move like muscled skin. A cursed deformity? 

An indication that you were once something more? 

The visceral shade of glowing amber shines ominously bright like a flame tempered angrily.

“A  reincarn…” The words speak as an echoing drawl that overlaps together. “But  my  Milenec  all  the  same…  my  mate.”

“M-mate?” Wanda stutters and you nod with a low purr. 

Had her dabbling in magic really cost her this time? For all her friend’s pleading to reconsider her less than tame rituals and practices, she truly opened the genie bottle on this one. And that genie happened to be a mystical entity hellbent on her being someone someone it knows. A reincarnate. 

Wanda cannot exactly place it within herself, but there is a certain cadence of allure in your words. Your profession that you and her are meant to be together. She’s felt so lonely as of late after her messy breakup with her ex. Feeling unwanted and pathetically isolated, believing that nobody else wanted her because of her taboo hobbies. 

But to think that this… creature wants her. She feels like it’s a sort of lust yearning to break free of herself. That this is right. That you’re meant to be. 

Your hands move to cradle her jaw, her visage cutely small compared to your hands. Her breath comes in light pants. “May  I…  kiss  you,  Milenec?” 

When Wanda had arrived back at her dorm room, she mostly expected it to be barren of her roommate after what occurred tonight. No doubt staying with Bucky. Her plump lips still reside with this vibrating tension after the kiss you shared. It was exotically powerful, submissively contained despite the ravenous hunger she could all but feel course through your materialised body. 

The grimoire sat on her dresser, a foreboding piece of occult just laid out in the open. You advised her to take it with her.

“It  was  yours.  Take  it.”

From the vessel of her sleeping form, you emerge as the figment moving through the shadows, a tainted mass like water in oil. The native, lesser darkness submits beneath your imposing will, threatened by you. As a wayward spirit now marking your haunting claim to this new territory, you drift around your surroundings under an inquisitive note to investigate. 

Your master is… different. She must be that of a reincarn. The loss of her memories — the loss of you — and in the matter that the world has changed so much since you were last summoned to this realm. Only the telltale sign of your presence leaves your shadow out in the open view, under the protruding light of the moon painted over the wall. 

Before you, your hand muses between the phases of existence, taking care to be gentle when your claw pokes and plucks at a button eye of a stuffed toy of a bear. You recall young village girls who made their comforting friends from old straw, ragged scraps of hemp and linen thread. Witches of the craft also used similar ingredients to create dolls, giving them onto you to then find and slaughter them. Ah, those were the days you were admired as a god. A deity of the dark and the shadows, where your name was uttered on the faint whisper of fear and gasped aloud in seek of repentance. 

Then your beloved summoned you, bound you in the sustained chains of her servanthood, and despite your nature to feel angered because of your entrapment; you admired the raw power she held. Together, you both would be unstoppable. In pledge of your divine protection and loyalty, she would bed you and settle your every carnal desire. She announced her soul yours to take in exchange that you would in turn serve as her faithful acolyte, the fonted source behind her increasing magic. 

A woman after your own heart. No other witch of her time had made such an offering so appealing. Usually they slew a few mortals as a sacrifice or the odd bassinet that cradled a babe surrounded by small, dead birds; all to ask your favour and to surrender a portion of your power to make them powerful.

You’re not sure why these women thought you’d have such need for innocent, infant souls. But you made their treachery pay for their disgusting insinuation. Nor did you ever condone the contracts over the young. A foul entity of the void but one with a consciousness. That was what your true followers came to understand. 

Brought back to the present you stand before the mirror of Wanda’s vanity. Small framed adornments hang by an invisible force that you decree is faulty magic, based on how easily it wanes upon touching it with the graze of a single clawed finger. Your mistress smiles in each one, some with the company of who you presume to be her followers, and others she is alone; in wait for your shadow to loom hazily in the next frame. 

This modern age still confounds you but you will learn it. And with it, you will have all knees bend before your master. You will finally sate one another as you both promised for an eternity. Beside the vanity sits a woven basket. You come completely from the cloak of your phantomhood when the smell hits you. A strong odor exudes from it and you curiously click the lid open. The scent wafts higher, more intense and your core awakens with arousement. You can smell the intensity of her on the used clothes. The nose hole of your skulled face inhales  deeply, sharply with a wheezing crackle. Your tongue laps at the soaking patch of her recent loins, groaning at the way hunger consumes you. 

Your ears rattle with a perked flicker at the piercing chord of Wanda’s softened whine. Your head swerves to peer over your shoulder, a penetrative gaze of two smoldering fires set upon her. How beautiful she looks, the blanket pooled to her stomach, revealing the sculpt of her form, a less than orderly top clinging to her loosely and barely concealing the spill of her breasts. 

As a misted cluster of wavering smoke, you saunter towards her until you stand over her at the side of the bed. Your head cranes on a tilted axis as you examine her closely. Her brows scrunched together, troubled and her body struggles and writhes pathetically, more so as she whines and moans breathlessly under the stir of her slumber. A low rumble vibrates in the chasm of your chest that it echoes deeply. 

Her hips jerk and she lets out another pitiful sound. She’s needy…

She  yearns  for  us…

She’s  ready…

It’s  now  our  time…

With one hand you cup her at the apex between her thighs and she shivers, hips jumping forward into your palming embrace. You growl with a low-edged timbre, desire taking hold of you. You feel the cool dampness soak her panties much like the ones in the basket and her smell… it takes every single sin of yours to remember not to ravish her outright lest you tear her open. 

She continues to move against the wide spread of your hand, rubbing herself on you. Her muscles go rigged with each needy roll of her hips and her throat constricts around her mumbled phrases and wanting sounds. 

She  needs  us…

You intrude two long fingers beneath the thin fabric of her panties, your thumb having sought out her clit. You run along her folds with tantilising motion, teasing. Your master gives a low, sulky moan in turn. Her legs spread further apart to welcome you, accommodate your invading advancements and her breath quickens that her breasts become strained against her top. How you’ll tear it off her in due time. Nothing will keep you apart an longer, nothing else shall hinder you from bearing witness to her naked body pinned beneath you or when she takes her place above you; to spear herself on the throne that is your cock. She will come to remember her manners, her power and then… nothing will remain in your path. You two shall be unstoppable. 

You push the two fingering appendages past her moist folds and she gasps curtly, her spine arching beautifully from the mattress. Finally, she’s embracing that which is long overdue. Your thumb rolls her cli in slowly drawn circles, pressing with a touch of firmness to let her know your toying is an act to please. 

Her name parts through her agape lips and her dark lashes beat with a sleepy flutter, unaware completely to what transpires. 

“Milenec…” you purr. The darkened dart of your tongue slides over the maw of your bony teeth, wishful to savour her taste. You lower yourself at her side, your other hand moves up, caressing the temple of her body until it reaches the nape of her neck. Your jaw cracks and pops, a wiry whisper of breath lashes through the hollow of your throat and your tongue extends further from your mouth. Still fingering her velvety insides until she’s coating you with her arousal, her clit thrumming with a lively pulse, your tongue becomes integrated into the pleasurable mix. 

You grunt and moan with a thousand resounding echoes bouncing back and forth between the walls. You taste the sweetened dew of her skin, its slight tang of salty residue. It slides over the slim plane of her stomach, caressing the creased threshold of her legs right near her navel and then upwards. The damned fabric offends you in your aroused exploration. Your tongue slips beneath its material hem and travels between her breasts, rippling for a moment before tearing the top down its middle. Her nipples become stiff, erected by the sudden chill that riddles her skin with goosebumps. 

Her chorus of moans spurs you on. The inky tendril of your tongue glides over each breast, playful with both nipples until you leave a shiny gloss behind. It has her mewing in a way that makes your cock throb and stand between your legs. The thicker portion of your tongue slides and fondles over the curve of her breasts, its extension moving back down her body following the natural weight of her belly until your tongue prods at her clit. It’s cold to her, she lets out a shivered sigh and a softened mewl of your name. 

Along with your fingers, your tongue divides the lips of her slickened pussy apart, becoming a third instrument that strokes her from within. Her walls are hot around you and it clouds your mind with a clouded lust, her snug walls that are flushed with a velvety feel that’s moistened; a precious cove where she beckons your entreating defilement. You groan with a slurping lap in indulgence to her taste finally on your tongue. Sweetened like a honeyed wine, the taste of a feverish delight. Greedily, you sink your tongue further inside of her. 

She arches her back further and your hand supports her at the backend of her skull as she cries out your name, her breath panting and concealing that of a blissful scream. Her eyes open to the dimly lit world around her, the lamplight having flickered in warning that its lighting will expire soon the moment you laid your hands on her. Terrorised by a series of gasps and hiccuping moans, her hands fist and clench at the chilly spires of your misty fur, just thick enough to grab onto but the fainter portions slip through her hold. 

“Y–Y/n… ah—ahh! My acolyte…”

You give a mused whine at the teetering edge of her voice, a bended inflection as she now balances horribly on the verge of her own orgasm; a heavenly relief. “Right there… please, r–right there!”

Your thumb becomes aggressive on her clit and you pull her to sit up slightly. The widened base of your head forces her legs to remain open no matter how much she clenches them against you, she pulls at the mane of fur around your neck as she begs you. 

With a few more strokes of your fingers and tongue, she cums. Her body trembles violently as she’s taken by the white, hot flush that blinds her for a moment and her juices reward you; allowing you to devour it with gulping eagerness. As a last effort, your fingers work to stretch her walls out and she winces before you withdraw both appendages. 

Her chest extends with each large breath and her eyes drown with a deepened pool of lust, the sparkle of scarlet dancing within them. Her power grows with digesting effort through each powerful exchange of your sexual endeavors. Your tongue retracts slightly back down into the unknown and pitless depths of your gullet and you growl deeply. 

Wanda’s hands become fixed at your shoulders and pull at you, inviting you. With a serpentine movement, your tongue moves slowly over the mound of her clit, eliciting a sharpened gasp from Wanda. Further, it moves up her body again, wrapping as a band around her breasts and squeezing her; a mouse caught in your trap. The thinner flare of your tongue is a wonderful muscle all its own when it balances merely of its own accord before her lips, like a snake risen up for the strike. 

Just from the burning amber of your eyes she understands you want her to taste herself. Her plump lips open weakly and you push the inky, slick covered tip into her mouth. Her tongue moves forward and flicks at the slitted divide of your forked muscle; and your body ripples with an unworldly, loud hum. She will come to understand such an area is akin to the sensitive tip to your weeping cockhead.

Your cock twitches and you move until your widened gate sits between her legs. Her soft, delicate thighs are forced to rest against the strong, muscled limbs of your own, just barely meeting at level with your hips and where her awaiting cunt lines up with your cock. 

You move your tongue as a secondary thrusting muscle. Wnda moans a muffled song around it, her own tongue stroking the underbelly of the blackened length and your hips pitch forward with an eager roll. Your tip notches between the capture of her swollen pissy lips and you push forward.

Her body immediately tenses up and your hands hold tight to her wrists, ensuring her grip that claws at your remains there. You’ve never been opposed to pain mixing with pleasure. 

The pronunciation of your name vibrates through your tongue and you growl. Her walls constrict around you with that hot flushness, fluttering as she eases her body to relax. Your size is one she hasn’t experienced before, not even her ex could compare. You pick up your thrust promptly, shoving your cock in and out, in and out. When you withdraw your tongue, the coiled muscle tightening around her ribcage with each thrust you force to penetrate her deeper, she lets out a sighing moan. Her lashes beat fast and her eyes roll back, lulled by the backward crane of her head that falls back against the pillow. 

“Y-yeah, there, right there…”

“Mmm—mhph, so deep!”

How you’ve waited so long to hear her pleasure all to yourself. It’s intoxicating to be praised by your master and your pace quickens. Your hips snap faster and harder with a harshened force that rocks the bed back and forth with a grinding squeak, the headboard splintering a straight line into the wall from the pounding brunt. 

“Shit, shit— I’m gonna—ah!”

You can hear her deep within the recess of her soul. Her reincarn a physical vessel that harbours your first and only love. Your beloved mate. She sings out to you; summoning you. 

You see her within the blind of a memory, seeing the woman beneath you as you do your master. 

You see two different branches of her soul. 

And the thought that your master in this life has faced so much judgment, that her previous lover left her — not that he would have been around much longer if he’d been in the picture still. 

A new quarry to hunt once your consummation was complete. A prize to bring back to your mate. Her first sacrificial offering you’d present to appease her.

Her legs lock around your sturdy hips to drag you further inside of her, kissing the delicate plush of her cervix that has her keening, her lips parted with deep and loud moans that would disturb the neighbouring dorms for sure. 

“Milenec…,” you rattle with a purring growl, “My  Milenec…  release,  let  go.”

For a second time, Wanda bends to the bliss of her euphoria. Cumming around your cock, her walls hug you tightly and her body trembles again with a feverish tingle. It feels like her insides are boiling but her skin is plagued by the wave of coldness. 

Your ears and back with a sharp howl as your knot swells before erupting with the spurting ropes of your release, listening to the rhythmic and moistened glide of where your bodies lock together now. It’s a sound you want to hear for eternity. 

Your tongue loosens around her bust and slinks back down into your gullet, concealing its impressive length for another time. 

“I feel…” Her words come out as a faded exhale. She’s unable to find the words as she stares up at you, a hand caressing the bony curve of your jaw that pops back into place after hanging so low. 

“Whole.”

No longer will your darling master feel the shaded cloak of neglect and disregard. She will feel what it means to truly be loved. Desired. Worshipped. As your mate she falls under your protection and you will guard her fiercely. You will protect the witch who summoned you all those years ago and you shall forever pledge your service to the witch before you now.

She is one and the same. A lover is a lover even through ages past. Nothing will change the bargain you forged long ago. Not the eyes that spear her to the pyre that burned her in ages old, nor the imprisonment of the void, or even the grades she appears desperate to achieve — though you believe she should turn her studies to that of the grimoire: her true potential.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ no note from the author

[strnilolover]

Masquerade Ball …

(this is in second person <3)

The palace was alive with excitement on the night of the masquerade ball. Nobles from neighboring countries, prestigious guests, and even members of the royal family’s inner circle had come to celebrate under the grand chandeliers and golden arches of the ballroom. As the evening approached, the palace was bustling with preparations, every servant and maid in a frenzy to ensure every detail was perfect.

In Matt’s bedroom, you were carefully fastening his collar, adjusting the dark, elegant fabric of his suit. Your fingers worked delicately, your heart racing slightly as you stood so close to him, feeling the warmth of his presence.

“Thank you,” Matt murmured, his gaze fixed on you with that soft intensity you’d come to know well. His mask lay on the table, a sleek design in dark hues that matched his attire, leaving his eyes just visible beneath it.

You glanced up at him, managing a shy smile. “Is there anything else you need matt?” you asked, your hands dropping from his collar to rest at your sides.

He shook his head, smiling faintly — but he quickly changed his mind. “Actually, yes. I have a surprise for you.” His voice was warm, teasing, with a glimmer of excitement that caught you off guard.

You raised an eyebrow, confused but intrigued. “A surprise?” you whispered. He nodded, gesturing toward the adjoining door that led to his private bathroom. “In there. Go on.”

You looked at matt for a moment before turning your gaze back to the bathroom door. You took a hesitant step forward, but then fully walked forward. You hand grabbed the handle, turning it before pushing the door open.

When Matt told you to check the bathroom for a surprise, you hadn’t expected anything close to this. You held your breath as you entered his bathroom and found a gown — a stunning dress in purple and gold, shimmering with delicate jewels that caught the light. There was a matching mask, adorned with lace and gems, lying beside was a handwritten note — in no other than matt’s handwriting himself.

Wear this tonight. For me. Join me at the ball.

Your heart raced, disbelief mixed with a thrill that made your hands tremble as you picked up the gown. You whispered to herself, “This is risky. This is more than risky. What will everyone think?”

Up until now, your relationship with Matt had been limited to hidden glances and whispered words, secret meetings and moments stolen in the quiet corridors of the palace. But this? Going to the masquerade ball, dressed up as a guest? It was a bold step, and it made you nervous.

Even though your face would be covered — that no one would know it was you, made it more exciting. But you couldn’t help the way your skin pricked with uncertainty — what if someone did recognize you? you weren’t supposed to be seen with the prince in that way.

But Matt had asked you to be there. He had thought of you, arranged this beautiful gown just for you, and left you a note as if you were the most important person in his world. You’d always watched the masquerade balls from the sidelines, helping set the table or serving drinks to the guests, never imagining you could be one of them. The idea was exhilarating.

You slipped into the gown, your hands smoothing the fabric as you looked at yourself in the mirror. It felt strange, being on the other side of things — dressed up as someone who belonged at the ball, as though you weren’t just a maid but an equal. The mask settled snugly over your face, hiding your identity just enough that it gave you a small rush of confidence.

“Just for tonight,” you whispered to yourself, smoothing your skirt. “I’ll be someone else.”

When you entered the ballroom, your breath caught. The chandeliers sparkled above, casting a golden glow over the crowd of masked guests twirling on the dance floor. You’d never seen it from this perspective, never felt the music sweep your away as a guest rather than a servant. It was magical, and though you knew the risk, a part of you relished the chance to feel like you belonged here, if only for a night.

Almost instinctively, your eyes scanned the room, searching for him. You felt like an imposter, someone pretending to be part of this world, apart of matt’s world that you didn’t know how to really fit into well. But, you felt as if maybe seeing matt might make you feel better.

Your eyes scanned the room, searching for a long moment. There were lots of people — ladies dressed in beautiful gowns and men dressed in sleek outfits and ties. But then, through the crowd, you spotted him.

He was talking with a group of nobles, his mask obscuring part of his face but leaving his intense gaze visible, a gaze that lifted and locked on you the moment you saw him. His eyes widened briefly, his lips curving into a faint smile. In that instant, you knew he’d been waiting for you.

Unable to help yourself, you moved through the crowd toward him. His own feet carrying himself to meet you halfway, his eyes never leaving yours as he took your hand, his fingers warm and steady against your own.

“You came,” he murmured, his voice soft with amazement, his gaze sweeping over you. “And you look… absolutely stunning darling.” he held your hand up, encouraging you to spin — and you did, giggling slightly.

You smiled when you came to a stop, you cheeks warming beneath the mask. “I… I wasn’t sure if I should. I mean, I’m not…” you trailed off, glancing around nervously. “I’m not supposed to be here, not like this.”

He squeezed your hand gently, pulling you closer, his expression soft. “Tonight, you belong here just as much as anyone else,” he murmured. “And I wanted you to see yourself this way. You’re not just my maid. You’re so much more.”

Your heart fluttered, and you looked up at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t believe I’m here, dressed up, actually… part of the ball. I’ve only ever seen it from the other side, watching everyone else have this life.” you admitted.

He smiled, leaning close as his voice dropped to a quiet murmur. “Well, tonight, I want to watch you enjoy it. I want you to see yourself as I see you.” and he pulled back, grinning — his blue eyes stood out under his mask, it made you breathless.

Before you could respond, he took your hand, guiding you onto the dance floor. The music swelled around you as he pulled you close, his hand firm at your waist, his eyes never leaving your own. You felt your worries start to melt away as you moved together, and for the first time, you let herself sink into the moment, letting yourself feel as though you belonged there in his arms — among all these people.

You danced until your heart was pounding, your cheeks warm with exhilaration, every touch and every glance between you two felt suffocating and filled with an unspoken longing. When the music slowed, matt leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Come with me,” he whispered, his voice low and rough.

He took your hand, quickly leading you off the dance floor and down a quiet corridor away from the crowd. Your heart raced, anticipation tingling through you as he pulled you into a dimly lit corner, where the sounds of the ball faded into the background.

You were alone, hidden in the shadows, and he turned to face you, his eyes dark and intense as he took both of your hands in his. “You have no idea how stunning you look darling — how hard it was to not let myself get carried away in there..” he whispered.

Your breath caught, and you felt a nervous thrill as you looked up at him, your own voice a whisper. “It felt strange… being here like this. Like I was part of your world, even though I’m not.”

He shook his head, reaching up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “You are part of my world,” he said softly. “You’re the part that makes it feel like home.”

Before you could reply, he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours before meeting you in a kiss that was soft but filled with a quiet urgency. You melted into him, your hands resting against his chest as his unoccupied hand rested against your hip — pushing you up against the wall. The kiss was sweet but urgent — quickly turning heated, but it didn’t get too far.

When you finally pulled apart — your breath coming in short pants, he rested his forehead against yours, his fingers still tracing gentle patterns on your cheek. “I want more nights like this,” he murmured, his voice a gentle plea. “I don’t want to have to hide it. I want you by my side, every day, just like this.”

You looked up at him, your eyes shining, voice barely a whisper. “Then let’s have tonight. Just this moment.”

He smiled, brushing another kiss to your lips, and for the rest of the night, you decided to stay hidden in the shadows — forgetting all about the ball and matt’s duties as prince. Letting yourselves believe that, for just a little while, you could have a life together, free from rules and expectations.

[sorceresssundries]

Dark Desires

A smutty one-shot based on a prompt from this list. I'll tell you the prompt after.

Pairing: Gale x Fem Tav/Durge

Summary: Tav (Durge) is tired of Gale veiling his darker desires and limiting his potential.

Warnings: SMUT. SMUT SMUT SMUT. Dark(er) Gale.

Word Count: 3.1k

The day had not gone well.

They were all tired, bruised, and sweat-soaked from hours of scouring the abandoned adamantine forge. Exhaustion weighed them down and was pressing heavily on already delicate tempers.

They had set up camp in the bowels of the ancient, destroyed temple of Shar. The heat from the lava spluttered below them, the remains of once-worshipped idols now reduced to nothing more than a burning, molten sea. The hisses and pops of the lava echoed out into cavernous depths, its glow casting eerie, dancing shadows on the cracked stone walls, painting the temple crimson and black.

Tav sat outside her tent, head throbbing with a dull, pounding ache, as though her lost memories were closed knuckles trying their best to beat their way to the front of her mind, threatening to burst her skull apart into a white-hot flash of violence. The heat was not helping her mood. It made it tough to think clearly. The stifling warmth clotted the atmosphere, making each breath feel sticky as it was dragged into her lungs. She craved clean air. A clean mind.

“Might I have a word?” Gale’s posture was stiff, his tone formal as he approached her. They were the only two in camp, the others had headed out in search of much needed supplies, and Tav had hoped she would be able to spend a few hours in peace. She had no real desire to speak to him right now. She was tired and aching, the battle earlier had taken a lot out of her. 

They had scraped a win by the skin of their teeth, and only because her magic had bloomed outwards in a rage of fire, lashing whip-cracks of flame in all directions, injuring Lae’zel and Wyll in the process. She hadn't done it intentionally; the power fizzing through her veins sometimes had a mind of its own. That raw, uncontrollable magic combined with the pressing urges that haunted her made for a dangerous mix. It had gotten them out of numerous sticky situations but had also caused significant damage along the way. 

In the moments that followed, where the air still crackled with her magic and danced over her skin, she had locked eyes with Gale, and the desire in his gaze could have pulled a city from the sky. 

He stood before her now and cleared his throat, as though to dislodge his words.

“I once read a book that explained in some detail…”

“I don’t need one of your lessons right now, wizard” she sighed, standing, rubbing her temples with weary, calloused fingers. She glared at him, and noticed his expression shift from awkward to angry. The heat was clearly getting to him too.

“Well, maybe if you applied some basic discipline to that inert, crude magic of yours, sorcerer, we would be less likely to encounter the problems we faced today.” His tone was scolding, condescending. She hated when he spoke to her like this, it enraged her. 

“We survived, didn’t we? If it wasn’t for my crude magic then you’d be nothing more than a crater and a cloud of red mist. Not even the weave would have been able to stitch you back together.”

Gale's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Survival isn’t the only metric of success, Tav. The reckless use of power comes at a cost. Lae’zel and Wyll bear the scars of your uncontrolled outburst. We need to find a balance, a way to harness your strength without endangering the group.”

Tav’s frustration bubbled beneath the surface, her head pounding even harder. She knew Gale had a point, but the constant pressure to control something that felt as wild and untamed as a storm was suffocating. 

“And what would you have me do? My magic isn’t like yours. It doesn’t follow rules or commands. It’s a part of me, and sometimes it reacts without my say.” He was about to come back with a cut from that bladed tongue of his, so Tav kept going before he spent the next half an hour admonishing her.  “And maybe if you were a bit more reckless and free from your harness, you could cast magic without having to think about your dusty books and your precious ex-lover first. Might make you a little quicker off the mark.”

“Mystra is the source of all magic, including yours I might add!”

“My magic is my own.” Tav said steadily. 

“By Mystra’s grace.” Gale muttered under his breath. Tav was getting tired of his immovable, relentless devotion. It was becoming tiring.

“The weave may be hers, but our mastery of it is not.” Tav took a step towards him, she could smell the day’s musk clinging to him, mixing with the thick heat in the air. She could practically taste the scent of him on her tongue. There was a bead of sweat which slid down from his brow in a slow trickle. “You should let go a little, see what happens if you’re a bit more… primitive. There is life outside of Mystra’s palm, you know.” 

She was standing so close she could lean forward and run her tongue along his collarbone. She ached to do so. This man needed undoing. 

She had seen the way he looked at her, when the darkness called and her lips flashed from smile to sneer. When the bloodthirsty whispers poured promises of power into the whorl of her ear and she felt suddenly unstoppable. Her muscles would tighten and breath run ragged, and she would catch his eyes - a pretty creep of darkness stirring there to match her own. He hungered for her. He just wouldn’t admit it. 

She would have to make him. 

Tav met those dark eyes now, where lust for power and lust for her swirled together into a potent pool she wished to drown in. 

“I could help you let go, show you what real, mortal pleasure looks like. I could make you forget your Goddess for a little while. Perhaps even forever.” Tav’s voice was a siren’s song in a ceaseless ocean, and he was rock-strewn and desperate.

He swallowed thickly.

Gale liked to play the hero, but Tav saw through his façade, the veneer that masked a core of ambition and hunger. He cloaked himself in ideals, but beneath the surface, there was a darker drive that mirrored her own. Gale's ambition, though veiled in scholarly pursuits and noble causes, resonated with the raw, unbridled power that surged through her veins. They were kindred spirits, both dancing on the edge of control, both forged in the same fire.

They could be unstoppable, the two of them. There was enough power there to crumble the Absolute into dust. Not just the Absolute - anyone who stood before them. They could be more than gods; they could be whatever they wanted.

His fingers moved to trace featherlight over the sharpness of her jaw. His mouth was parted slightly and she could see the flash of his teeth, the curve of his tongue which she wanted to taste with her own. 

“Tempting” his voice was lower now, rougher. “But i’m afraid with my condition as volatile as it is, any undue… excitement… could tip it over the edge.” 

“I don’t believe that.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, I don’t believe it. Look at you now. Face flushed, chest heaving, provoked, heated. And you’re fine. I’ve seen you, mid-fight, full of adrenaline, when you make fire rain and lighting strike and the flash of light makes your smug little smile dance. You like it. And that level of excitement hasn’t destroyed you.” 

She reached out to trace the lines of the orb on his chest, exposed by his low-cut, loose robes, a necessity in the heat. Her fingers felt the indentations in his skin, the shallow, bruise-coloured carvings where his sweat gathered. She brought her damp, salty finger to her mouth, tasting the mingling of sweat and magic.

“I think you could handle it.”

His breathing was laboured, the hotness of it combining with the stifling air of the forge. “You would risk blowing us all to pieces, for what? Some mortal indulgence?”

“Wouldn’t you?” 

The silence burned between them, and Gale was caught between desires. He wanted her, but there was a voice telling him it would be a mistake. With his heart pumping so furiously and his head buzzing with the thought of Tav’s skin against his tongue, he did not know if that voice was his own - or that of his Goddess.

“Did she ever fuck you?” Tav’s voice was mocking, desire scorching the corners of her words until they smoked. 

“What Mystra and I shared was beyond fucking, I can assure you. You wouldn’t be able to understand the depth and intricacy of out…”

“So.. no?”

Her words were a lilt, a song, an invitation. She reached out her fingers to brush against the glint of silver nestled in the sweat-damp curls of his hair. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game. Meddling in things you know very little about.” He was speaking so softly now that each word was almost a whisper.

“Oh? I’d say I understand you better than you think. You tried to win a clever game against a God, and were surprised when she outplayed you. You wanted to match her power, and she cast you aside, seeing you for what you truly are. Another Karsus. An ambitious fool with an ego big enough to think he deserved to equal her power. That darkness in you had to cling to something Gale, It’s just feeding off what was already there.”

Something which was pulled tight, snapped.

“Go fuck yourself.” He purred, gaze glowering. There it was. That beautiful dark flash she loved so much. Tav had never heard him so blunt, so lacking in his usual verbosity. He hid behind his carefully constructed sentences like they were city walls, and now there was naught but crushed bricks and spite. 

He walked away, finished with her. But Tav was not finished with him.

“Fuck me yourself, you coward.” 

Coward.

The word ignited him. A second of final uncertainty was banished forever as he strode back to her wordlessly, blazing. He grabbed her waist, clutching her almost painfully as he kissed her the way he had fantasised about every time he saw her bursts of unbound, fiercely beautiful power. She was crimson in a world where he had only known soft violet.

There was no romance or tenderness, no promises of endless devotion or nights of a thousand pleasures. They didn't dance together in the sea of night, letting the weave morph them into ethereal, matterless energies. There was sweat and tongue and heat, pain that tasted like pleasure. Gale's moans were cracked and heavy as his teeth grazed Tav's neck. He could feel her heartbeat, hard and lustful under his tongue, pulsing all her mortal blood around the body he craved so desperately. Her hand was ungraceful as it tore apart the laces of his trousers, pushing down to find him unabashedly hard and wanting.

Tav smirked against his lips. "If you want something, you should just take it."

He grasped her hair hard in one hand, pulling her head back to look at him. Her pupils were lust-blown, her lips swollen from their bruising kiss.

"I intend to."

He tore the flimsy camp shirt from her, and Gale wasted no time in palming her bare breasts. He groaned at the feel of them, slick with her sweat, their weight and warmth driving him to the edge. He pushed them both to the ground ungracefully, his mouth moving down her body with such force and fervor that his lips and tongue left bruises. He wanted to fuck her recklessly and relentlessly, but first, he wanted to undo her completely.

He unceremoniously pulled down her trousers and underwear, feeling his cock twitch harder at the silken sight of her. The second his tongue tasted her cunt, she growled. He paused to look at her, writhing and helpless beneath him. Finally.

“Look who’s suddenly out of clever little words.” He murmured, breathing hard through his nose, her scent caught there. “Nothing to say to me now, hmm?”

“Gale,” was all she could manage, her sharp edges dulled. The plea in her softened voice made him drive his tongue back into her even harder. He was the one taking her.

Tav's hands clawed at the ground, her back arching as he devoured her. Every touch, every flick of his tongue sent shivers of pleasure through her body. She was unravelling, her mind a haze of lust and need. She pulled at his hair, guiding him, urging him on, her moans growing louder, more desperate.

He thought he would burn out from the heat alone. The sticky air clung to him like wet, heavy clothing. He felt so smothered with tacky humidity he could drown in it. They were both soaked, their sweat indistinguishable, their tastes mingling. Gale had once believed that the melding of minds and souls was the closest he could be to someone, but he was wrong. Here and now, with Tav, burning for and with each other, it felt like they were flames from the same ember.

She tasted like nothing else. Like sweat and salt. Like the first meal after a day of starving. She was red meat and bold wine and the ocean and something completely indescribable. She was a meal he wanted to indulge in completely until he was gorged. Tremors began to flicker through her legs, and her hips twitched more forcefully, pushing his nose further into her. He thought he might suffocate—let him, he thought. If he died with her scent in his lungs and her taste on his lips, so be it.

“Come. Now.” He said against her, the low thrum of his voice a vibration. Her hands clenched so tight in his hair her nails dug into his scalp, and he hissed as she came, bucking like an untamed animal as he did his best to keep her hips still while she rode his face into oblivion.

“More,” she gasped as he moved up to kiss her messily, his face soaked with her.

“Like this?” he growled as he finally thrust into her, his fingers digging into the supple flesh of her thighs. He pushed her legs upward, pinning her completely beneath him. He wanted her to feel all of him, to rub against her clit as he slammed into her.

He was tired of her acidity and sharp tongue; he wanted to douse her in pleasure until she was a wrecked woman who couldn’t string a sentence together. He wanted to fill her mouth with his cock just to stop her talking, to see her eyes water from the fullness of him as she gagged on him. And she would love every filthy minute of it, he knew, until he spilled himself down her throat, his hand tight in her hair.

He wanted to taste his own seed on her tongue. He wanted her to taste herself. He wanted to fuck her so deeply, and come inside her so fully that those two tastes became one.

She was intoxicating. Not only could he taste and feel her mortal flesh twitching and pulsing beneath him, he could feel the sensations dancing over his own skin. His cock throbbed, coated in the slick of her arousal. Caused by him. His breath was erratic, his usual reliable words lost in the bonfire of her.

She was infuriating. She was selfish. She was dangerous.

She was his, and he called out her name from the thought.

Her response was a mix of a moan and a cry, her nails raking down his back, her eyes half-closed in pleasure. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in another melting kiss, swallowing her cries as he thrust deeper, harder. His hands roamed her body, memorising every curve, every shiver of pleasure.

He could feel her nearing the edge again, her body tightening around him, every muscle coiling with anticipation. With one hand, he reached between them, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. The sensation sent her spiralling, her climax crashing over her with a force that left her trembling and breathless. Her moans turned to cries of ecstasy, her nails digging into his back as her body shuddered violently.

He watched her face contort with pleasure, her eyes glazed and lips parted, and it spurred him to thrust harder, deeper. His fingers never stopped their relentless motion, drawing out her orgasm until she was a quivering mess beneath him. He could feel her pulsing around his cock and he knew he was close. The sight of her coming undone, the sound of her pleading for more, was enough to push him over the edge

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside her, his own release tearing through him. He groaned her name, his voice thick with passion, as he filled her, their bodies locked together. His fingers continued to work her, drawing out every last tremor, until she was left panting and spent.

He collapsed onto her, their sweat-slicked bodies pressed together, his breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, they lay there, tangled in each other, the air around them heavy and hot with the scent of sex. Slowly, Gale lifted his head to look at her, his eyes dark and glinting. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle after their ferocity.

“See,” she panted, “I told you you could handle it.”

He rested his head against her neck, wordless. His clever, moral little thoughts had burnt out in the chaos of her, and all that was left was the ambition she had stoked.

“There is so much more to life than what she offers,” Tav breathed. “A whole other, messy, mortal world out there, with more power than your Goddess was willing to give you.” She paused, her voice a whisper against his ear. “But I am. I would give you everything.”

Gale met her gaze, his eyes searching hers. For a fleeting moment, he swore he caught a flash of red within them. They were so close, their faces almost touching, that the same flash of red reflected in his own dark stare.

“Show me”

The prompt was...

"Go fuck yourself"

"Fuck me yourself, you coward."

[wheeboo]

rain or shine | lee seokmin

SYNOPSIS. in which you comfort your boyfriend on a rainy day. PAIRING. lee seokmin x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort, magic-realism 👀 WARNINGS. seokmin is sad :( but we comfort him hehe, lil bit of kissing, terms of endearment WORD COUNT. 1.4k

notes: written cuz i want nothing more to always comfort seokmin... w a very soft pinch of magic <33

It's been cloudy and rainy all day.

You don't really mind the gloom𑁋it was probably needed after the last few days has been nothing but sun and warmer temperatures. Now, the muted sky, crisp air, and soft pitter-patter of rain hitting the windows offer a sort of comfort, like a chance to breathe deep and let your shoulders sag. Maybe if you listened close enough, you could almost hear the earth sighing with relief as it absorbs the moisture that whispered from the clouds throughout the day.

You take a sip from your cup of warm tea, the scent of chamomile swirling around you, the steam from the drink dancing upwards into the air. You relax your back against the couch behind you, letting the plush cushions melt beneath your weight.

Then a soft thump echoes against the floor, followed by a muffled curse and the clatter of what sounds like keys. You turn your head, seeing the door creak open as Seokmin enters inside, bringing with him a gust of wind that momentarily throws off the rhythm of the raindrops on the window. His hair is slightly damp and dark, plastered to his forehead in a way that suggests he may have run to his car without an umbrella.

When he throws his keys onto the table, the clang echoes through the room. Seokmin stands there for a moment, shoulders slumped, dripping water from the ends of his hair onto the rug below. He sheds out of his jacket, and finally picks his head up to meet you.

The clouds seem to have rolled over his normally sun-kissed eyes, his lips drawn into a tight line that mirrors the thunder rumbling in the distance. You can practically feel the temperature in the room dip a degree as he sighs, a heavy sound that echoes the sudden downpour outside.

"Hey," You greet him, setting your cup of tea down on the coffee table. "Long day?"

Seokmin runs a hand through his damp strands. "Yeah."

"Want to talk about it?"

He glances at you, a flicker of surprise softening the harsh lines of his face. There's a very, very subtle lift in one corner of his mouth, barely a twitch before it's gone, swallowed by the frown that still lingers on his brow. It's almost imperceptible, but you know Seokmin like the back of your hand. You can talk about it later.

"Maybe later, I just... need you," he mumbles quietly, then hesitates. "Can we..."

He gestures at the couch you're sitting on, and you immediately pick up on his motion. You open your arms up invitingly for him, and he practically melts into your embrace on top of you, shifting his weight comfortably, his head resting at the crook of your neck. Another contented sigh seems to roll out of him, the downpour outside softening just slightly. You wrap your arms around him, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease with each passing second.

You rest your head on his shoulder, the scent of rainwater and his cologne mingling in the air. You don't press for details, don't prod at the wounds that must be raw, and instead let the quietness take over, punctuated only by the mellow patter of rain and the soft rumble of Seokmin's breath against your ear.

Your fingers trace comforting circles on his back, and as you continue holding him, you can't help but notice a subtle shift in the atmosphere around you. The air seems to lighten, and a faint glow of warmth replaces the cool chill that had settled in the room. A smile blooms across your face at this, knowing that this moment of connection goes beyond the ordinary.

"I'm sorry," he mutters against your skin. "I didn't mean to ruin your day."

You let out an airy chuckle. "What makes you think that?"

Seokmin picks his head up from where it was nuzzled in the crook of your neck a little, a frown to his lips. "Well, I... Don't people prefer sunny weather over this?"

You smile reassuringly, tracing a soft path down his arm.

"Maybe some people," You reassure soothingly. "but I think some days the world just needs to breathe like this, you know?"

Seokmin glances out the window, seeing how the outside had turned grey because of him𑁋from a simple bad day. Shivers of guilt course through him, and it bleeds into the air, thickening the atmosphere and chilling the room even further.

A low rumble echoes from the sky, a thunderclap that seems to echo his thoughts. Rain lashes against the windows, becoming heavier now, like tears that can't be held back. You sense his shift, the way his warmth retreats, replaced by a prickling coldness that sends goosebumps across your skin.

"No, honey," You whisper, grabbing his hands into yours. "Don't do that."

The flicker of guilt in Seokmin's eyes catches yours as he looks down at you. "Do what?"

"Don't blame yourself," You say, your hand rising to cup his face. "It's not your fault. Come here."

You lightly pull him back into your embrace, his body molding back against yours almost naturally. Seokmin lets his eyes close once again, his somewhat unsteady heartbeat racing against his and your chest, simply letting your scent wash over him.

"It's okay to feel this way," You tell him. "It doesn't mean you're doing something wrong. The world needs rain too, right?"

"But what..." Seokmin takes a breath. "What if I-I hurt someone because I feel..."

The vulnerability in Seokmin's voice tugs at your heart, and you hold him a little tighter.

"You won't hurt anyone," You assure him, your thumb gently brushing away the worry lines etched on his forehead. "Your emotions are valid, love. And the weather, it's just... you know, responding to you. It's not a bad thing, it's just a part of who you are."

Seokmin has always held a twinge of hate for that part of him. To this day, he still doesn't fully understand whatever this ability he's probably cursed with is, but ever since he met you, he thinks that it's gotten better.

Your fingers find their way into Seokmin's hair, gently combing through the damp strands as he relaxes more into you, his guard lowering with each passing moment.

"It's okay to not smile all the time," You whisper softly. "We all have our cloudy days, and that's perfectly okay. Nobody is sunshine every day."

Seokmin has always been your sunshine, both figuratively and... quite literally. Sometimes you wonder how it's possible for someone to see the world so brightly. However, you've come to understand that even the sun needs to have its moments behind the clouds𑁋to allow us to see things only visible in the dark.

The rain outside seems to subside at your words, the drumming on the window softening to quiet taps. A warm breath hits the skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine, and you feel Seokmin shift in your hold. He lifts his head up to look at you, eyes shifting down to your lips for a second, and a spark alights in his eyes. The warmth radiating from him through the fabric of his clothes feels almost like sunshine attempting to break through the clouds.

Leaning in, Seokmin captures your lips in a tentative kiss. It's a soft touch, barely there, like a whisper against your skin, but the way his warm breath mingles with yours and his hand finds its way to the base of your neck sends a jolt of electricity through you... and perhaps a slight tickle.

A soft giggle escapes your lips, making you both pull back from the the kiss. Now hovering above you slightly, Seokmin smiles, a genuine, sun-kissed smile that chases away the lingering traces of his earlier storm, the tips of ears flushed with a dusty pink. Cute.

Then after a few moments, a single ray of sunlight peeks through the clouds and through the window, casting a warm, honey-coloured glow on Seokmin's face. He stares at it for a moment, then back at you, a glimmer of surprise dancing in his eyes.

"Feel better?" You ask him, fiddling with your laced fingers.

All he does is chuckle as if the small patch of light shining in wasn’t enough of an answer, the hesitant grin to his face growing slowly. This, you think, is what it means when the sun always shines after the storm.

"A lot better," he responds, leaning back down to you with a newfound confidence, lips lovingly brushing against yours once more. Ah, there’s your pretty sunshine. And it's all because of you.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair @wonwooz1 @woohaeyo @mark-geolli @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @aaniag @wootify @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @phenomenalgirl9 @rozisisme @mirxzii

[ps-cactus]

ROOTED – Sebastian Sallow & GN!Reader & Ominis Gaunt oneshot – 1864 words

tags and warnings: no smut, no obvious romance, however - established relationship, unreliable narrator, haunting atmosphere, mystery, dark magic, death and resurrection, identity loss and confusion, obsession, (a bit of) predatory instincts, survival instincts, blood, symbolism. Also posted on AO3

A/N: characters here are in their early twenties, not long since graduation. established relationship - you've been living with sebastian and ominis after graduation - you can see this as friendship (might be challenging, but you still can) or anything else; here it can be whatever you want.

Inspired by several songs: In the woods somewhere, Like real people do - Hozier / Rebirth - Poets of the Fall / Funeral of Hearts - HIM <- that's where the 'moonlight' and 'firelight' come from, and i liked how they worked together for these characters

Summary: You died. Here is what happens after a short while.

ROOTED

As you open your eyes, you’re struck by the absence of any memory that might explain your presence here, on the icy ground surrounded by trees.

The cold greets you first. It presses against your skin—a new sensation, a pleasant one. The last thing your body recalls is the suffocating heat of a fever, endless and draining. You don’t know how long it lasted or why it broke, you’re only glad it did.

You push yourself upright, steadying yourself on a large stone nearby. Intricate carvings cover its surface. Runes, whispers something deep within your clouded mind. Important, yes, but too complex for your dulled thoughts to hold onto now.

Your legs barely obey you, but you walk. Distance and time lose their meaning. You just know you must keep moving, must find… something. You don’t know what you seek, only that something is missing.

Had your mind been clearer, you might have noticed him sooner. A man—taller than you, but his frame feels neither threatening nor overly strong. The forest around you is pitch black, the thick canopy blotting out even the cloud-covered sky. And yet, you see him as though the darkness does not exist.

“Sebastian?” he asks. You find the sound of his voice comforting, and you take a step closer.

Perhaps he’s the one you’ve been searching for?

His blonde hair, light-coloured eyes, and pale skin evoke something ethereal. If nature had human embodiments, he would surely be the moonlight—the light you suddenly crave to bask in. Drawn by that resemblance, you step even closer.

He’s been facing you for some time now. He doesn’t approach, doesn’t move—he simply waits. When you stop before him, the forest’s silence envelopes you, undisturbed by your laboured steps anymore. Slowly, your weakened mind starts picking up more. It’s still hard to grasp and analyse the details, but you guess the man has been crying recently.

He points something at you—a wand. The word surfaces in your mind just like “runes” did—it’s important. Meaningful. Dangerous. The faint red glow at the wand’s tip pulses slowly, and you don’t like it pulsing in your direction.

“Hello?” Puffs of mist from his breath linger briefly before vanishing. Though you’re only steps away, he peers around as if still unsure of your presence.

“Hello?” you echo quietly and no mist follows your words. Your voice trembles, both hesitant and hoarse. He feels like the moonlight you crave, and you’re desperate for him to speak again.

“Is it... truly you?”

You stay silent, not because you’re incapable of answering, but because the question itself eludes you. Your thoughts are growing sharper and clearer, but you find no answer within you. Only the softly rustling trees seem to know what “you” means, and you haven’t been able to listen closely enough to grasp it yet.

“Hey?” His tone grows louder and firmer, and he takes a cautious step toward you.

“Hey,” you reply instantly. Your voice is louder this time but remains frail and faint.

The man approaches with deliberate slowness. The instincts generations your ancestors honed over centuries lie dormant within you, leaving only the faintest trace of awareness in the background of your mind. You don’t move as his hesitant fingers find your hand, trail to your shoulder, and then settle on your cheek.

“Hey,” you say once more.

His hand retreats sharply. Flecks of earth cling to his pale fingers, melting into mud speckled with fragments of old leaves. He doesn’t meet your stare, though you keep looking into his eyes. You can’t be sure about anything now, yet his eyes shine with something different—in a way that draws you in.

“But how?” He glances around again, his wand finally lowering from its aim at you. “He didn’t… no…”

He pulls you by the hand, as you walk slow enough to match your stumbling feet. He guides you to a house tucked amid scattered trees. Some of the tension in your chest eases as you realise—you’re not being taken away from the woods.

With each step further from the denser trees, something deep inside stirs sharply. You’re too new to this—to your new instincts—to decipher their meaning. This is, after all, your first day with them. You only know you long to return. The forest clings to you, and every step too far away would tear at you like a root ripped from frostbound earth.

Light and warmth fill the house. The shift in temperature makes you tremble. You want to leave, unable to fathom why the Moonlight man would bring you to such an awful place.

“When did you return?” he asks, releasing your hand. His words aren’t directed at you, but you enjoy hearing his voice all the same. “I’ve been searching for you, but...”

The fire near the wall, encased in stone, is the most dreadful thing in the room. Slightly less so is the other figure—a man standing before the flames. When he turns, the firelight catches his messy brown locks, making you think of smouldering wood.

The Firelight man moves swiftly, closing the distance until he’s right before you. His hands clasp your shoulders tightly, his eyes scanning your face frantically. Freckles scatter across his face, and as he stands away from the dreadful fire, you can’t help but wonder—would this freckled skin feel cool beneath your touch or hot like embers?

“I’d stopped believing it was possible...” he mutters, his wide eyes finally locking with yours and freezing there.

He wraps his arms around you, pressing you against him. His clothes are damp and chilled, with only a few spots where the fire’s heat has left a trace of warmth. He talks a lot, but none of it makes sense to you. He keeps asking some questions you could never answer. His clothes’ scent—of moisture and woods—fills your lungs, soothing in its familiarity. The urge to retreat back into the forest grips you once more.

“Maybe I… can get the bath ready for you,” he says, resigned to your silence, pulling a twig and a few leaves from your hair. “Or let’s just—”

The Firelight man immerses your hands in a water basin and carefully cleans them. The dirt gives way to fine scars—patterns carved into your skin, trailing from your wrists up into your sleeves. These scars, fresh and tender, awaken an inexplicable attachment in you, and for the first time in this new, raw existence, you feel joy.

The Firelight man’s hands are wrapped in bandages, and where they meet the water, faint dark spots seep through. He dips a towel into the basin and carefully wipes your face. You don’t object. You don’t know what else to do, so you simply stand there, feeling the cold water against your skin. The Moonlight man slips something over your shoulders from behind. The softness is nice, but the warmth is less so. You barely notice it’s a wool blanket before he steps away.

You crave moonlight—if not his presence, then the faintest touch of its radiance from the sky. You glance toward the window, but it reveals only shadowy blackness. A hand wrapped in frayed bandages carefully shifts your face back.

The water loosens one of the wrappings on his hand, exposing already familiar patterns carved into his skin, echoing your own scars.

The icy touch of the water on your face stirs a longing to return to the forest, to its pure and unyielding cold. But you still don’t know what you’re searching for or what truly matters, so you simply remain where you are. The Firelight man’s tousled hair glints in the firelight, its colour like deep mahogany, and you can’t tear your eyes away.

“You can hear me, right?” he asks, and your gaze shifts back to his eyes—brown flecked with green, like fallen leaves scattered on the woodland ground. “Want some water?”

Your eyes settle on the glass in his hand, but you feel nothing for the water within—no more than for the moisture still clinging to your skin.

“Or the tea, you must be so cold.”

“Sebastian, stop—just shut up for a moment,” says the Moonlight man, massaging his temples as he paces the room. “What is going on? Please, what have you done?”

“The thing you’ve desired above all else yourself,” the Firelight man retorts, the glass hitting the table with a resounding thud as he turns away.

“Tell me you didn’t go through with that ritual. It’s forbidden; they warned us—explicitly.”

“I never promised you anything regarding this, Ominis.”

“Do you even understand what you’re talking about?”

They keep arguing, their voices climbing in volume and speed. They’re unbearably loud, and it feels so wrong here. You look out the window, drawn closer to it—to the serenity of the night. Beyond the glass lies peace itself—the dense weave of branches, the cushion of moss on the ground and trunks, the gnarled roots snaking through the forest floor. You can see it all so clearly and it mesmerises you.

The clamour behind you doesn’t stop; it feels wrong and chaotic, but truly—means nothing. Their voices fade into the background as you stare at your hands again, now spotless except for the delicate beautiful patterns carved into your skin.

The narrow crescent moon emerges from behind the weighty clouds, and your gaze is drawn upward immediately. For the first time, you can inhale fully, as though the moonlight’s pale, ghostly light exists purely to let you breathe.

The scents around you grow vivid. Wooden floorboards, some damp and others dry and warm. Pungent and earthy, herbs waft from a table nearby, mixed with the burlap’s rough aroma. A dusty sofa carries the weight of years, while the blanket on your shoulders smells of wool and spices... and then you smell blood.

You tear your gaze from the crescent moon, drawn to find the scent's origin. The frayed bandage on the Firelight man’s hand is seeping with warm blood. You’ve never seen fresh blood spilling from human skin before in your life, but instantly, it’s all you desire to see. This is what you were meant to find. Your hands ache to reach out and feel it.

You swallow at the idea of tasting it with your lips.

Without even looking, you sense the moonlight’s gentle touch where it slips past the clouds to grace your skin. It soothes and strengthens you. But it could do so much more outside, beyond these walls. The forest waits for you, as much as you long for it—along with the presence that you know now lingers deep in the darkness.

Your growing instincts warn you that arriving alone would not be accepted. You don’t rush. You stand still, inhaling deeply. The scent of blood dominates the house now—it’s all you can perceive.

The dispute continues in the voices lower but still tense. The Moonlight man’s cheek glimmers faintly with the tear. The Firelight man lifts his eyes to you, his words ceasing, plunging the room into silence.

Everything finally makes sense—you’ll be genuinely embraced there tonight if you don’t return alone. They must come with you.

And you will stop at nothing to ensure it.

[elizaleclerc]

you’re good to me 🎨

lando norris x reader

summary: perfectionist painter!reader & poet lando enjoy a relaxing day in their apartment

song: wasteland, baby! by hozier

author’s note: lando reads a poem he wrote (part of the hozier song lol) and you paint something beautiful. neither of you can truly see the beauty of your own work.

word count: 1.4k

You sat in a comfortable cross-legged position on the carpet of your living room. Your back was slightly curved as you delicately maneuvered the bristles of your paintbrush across the canvas propped on the easel before you. With each stroke, you lost yourself in the colors and textures, creating a masterpiece with every dip into the paint. Lando lounged effortlessly on the couch nearby. His book of poetry lay open on his lap as he drifted between reading and writing his own verses, occasionally glancing over at your focused form with admiration.

As you meticulously adjusted the details of your painting, Lando watched you with rapt attention. His eyes traced every movement of your fingers as they delicately flicked and swirled, expertly mixing colors on the palette before you. A small smirk played at his lips, knowing how much you loathed having your hair fall in front of your face while you worked, but he couldn't help but find it endearing. Despite the messiness of your pulled back hair, you were a vision of determination and grace as you poured your soul onto the canvas before you. The room was filled with the subtle scent of paint, creating a serene atmosphere that enveloped both of you in its embrace.

You almost forgot Lando was in the room with how hard you were concentrating and how lost in your own work you got. Your mind had become an amalgamation of paint swirls and the fleeting visions you had for the finished product. You'd pause in your work, tilting your head to the side as if listening for a whisper from the canvas. Your eyes would narrow in concentration, searching for any missing touches that could bring the painting to life. Speckles of dried paint adorned your hands and lower arms, an accidental splattering of colors and textures from your passionate strokes. Some droplets even found their way onto your jeans.

After roughly three hours you emitted a sigh, “I hate it.” You proclaimed, dropping your brush in the water cup with frustration. 

“What?” Lando replied, his voice filled with disbelief as he shifted to get a better view of your work. It was a painting unlike anything he had ever seen before. The landscape seemed to stretch on for miles, depicting a fantastical realm that existed only in dreams. Cobblestone steps, now aged and overgrown with moss, wound their way up to towering trees with branches adorned in shades of blue and purple. A sense of magic emanated from the painting, transporting Lando to another world entirely. “Love, this is exquisite,” he breathed, unable to tear his gaze away from the mesmerizing scene before him.

You rolled your eyes in frustration, the words dripping with disappointment. "You always say that," you muttered under your breath. The painting before you felt off, no matter how much you added or changed. The colors, once vibrant and full of life, now seemed dull and lifeless. You let out a heavy sigh and pushed yourself up from the floor, walking over to the kitchen sink to wash off the paint from your hands. As the water splashed against your skin, you couldn't help but feel a sense of defeat. All that hard work, all those hours spent perfecting every brushstroke, and it still wasn't good enough. You considered tossing the painting altogether, feeling disheartened by its lack of beauty.

Lando couldn’t believe the words that came out of your mouth. “You must be joking.” He almost laughed, “I think you’d be the only person on the planet to hate this painting.”

You walked over to him lounging on the couch, his notebook resting on his broad chest. The warm glow of the sun filtered through the large windows, casting a golden halo around his head. His tousled brown curls lay playfully on his forehead, and his tanned skin was like honey. He motioned for you to join him on the couch, and without hesitation, your body molded to his as if they were made to fit together. Your chest pressed firmly against his side, and your arms naturally draped over his toned torso. From this close distance, you could admire every tiny detail of his face - the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the slight dimple in his cheek, and the gentle curve of his lips as he focused on his notebook. You couldn't help but feel a rush of love and admiration for this man who captivated you with just a mere glance.

Your body rose and fell in sync with his breath, a gentle rhythm that calmed your frustration over the failed canvas beside you. “May I share something with you?” He asked in a hushed tone, flipping through the pages of his worn notebook.

“Always, my love,” You grinned, anticipating the words he was about to share. Lando had a way of weaving you into each of his pieces, making every poem and story feel like a love letter written just for you. Over the years as partners, he had slowly but surely merged your essence into all of his work.

All the fear and the fire of the end of the world / Happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl / Happens great, happens sweet / Happily, I’m unfazed here too. / Wasteland, baby, I’m in love, I’m in love with you 

Your lips curled into a smile as you listened to his poetry, savoring each carefully crafted word that flowed effortlessly from his mind and onto the page. It was like a river of beauty and emotion, twisting and turning through your thoughts as you marveled at his ability to weave such intricate and poignant verses.

All the things yet to come are the things that have passed / Like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass / Like the bonfire that burns / At all worth in the fight fell too / Wasteland, baby, I’m in love, I’m in love with you 

“That’s breathtaking Lando, truly.” You look into his gorgeous gaze as your hands rested on his chest.

"Do you really think so?” He questioned, his critical eye scanning over his own work. And in that moment, you realized just how much of perfectionists the two of you were. Never satisfied with your own creations, always searching for flaws and imperfections. But in each other's eyes, the flaws were transformed into a unique kind of beauty, every word and brush stroke telling a story of its own.

“I know so,” you whispered, leaning closer to him. As his lips met yours, a surge of electricity shot through your body, causing your heart to flutter and your stomach to do somersaults. In that moment, you were painfully aware of how deeply in love you were with him - with his mind, his touch, the way he loved you back with such fierce passion. A million stars seemed to explode around you as you lost yourself in his touch.

As you basked in the warmth of his embrace, his lips traced a path of delicate kisses along your neck and collarbone. His breath was sweet with the scent of vanilla and cinnamon, intoxicating your senses. Lost in the moment, you couldn't help but smile and revel in the feeling of complete contentment.

With a smirk on his face, he pulled back slightly to look into your eyes. "How did I get so lucky with you?" he asked, his words dripping with adoration.

You returned his gaze, feeling your heart swell with love for him. "Some may say it's fate," you replied softly. But as you melted under his touch and the sound of his voice, you knew that it was something much deeper than mere chance.

It was a force stronger than any other, binding the two of you together in an unbreakable bond.

[ikkyfics]

Where the Sun Meets Love

Finnick Odair x f!reader

Summary: During a quiet night, Finnick finds a song and, without thinking twice, invites you to dance in the living room.

Warnings: fluffy, modern!au, est. relationship

Masterlist

The night gently fell over the wooden house, which seemed even cozier under the warm glow of the lamps. The salty smell of the sea came through the slightly open window, mixed with the sound of waves crashing in the distance. You were sitting on the couch, holding a cup of hot tea in your hands, while Finnick fiddled with an old record player he had insisted on fixing that week.

“It’s going to work, I swear,” he said for the third time, his tongue between his teeth as he adjusted something on the needle.

“You’ve said that for the last fifteen minutes,” you replied, laughing, but not taking your eyes off him.

Finnick always had this way of making simple things seem extraordinary. He wasn’t just fixing a record player; he was bringing something to life, as if every little detail mattered to him. That’s what you loved most about him: his ability to see beauty and meaning in everything.

Suddenly, the music started playing. It was a soft, nostalgic melody, the kind of music that felt made for slow dancing. Finnick stood up, smiling like a child who had just won a prize.

“I told you it would work,” he announced, triumphant.

You just rolled your eyes, hiding a smile behind the mug.

But before you could respond, he crossed the room in two quick steps and extended his hand to you. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” you asked, suspicious.

“Dance,” he replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Finnick…” You laughed, placing the mug on the coffee table. “I don’t know how to dance.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into something more challenging. “Of course, you do. Everyone knows. You just have to get up.”

“I’m a disaster,” you insisted, but he was already holding your hand and gently pulling you up.

Finnick led you to the center of the room, where the music filled the space with a magical atmosphere. He held your hand with a gentle firmness, the other hand resting on your waist.

“Trust me,” he said, his green eyes shining with a warmth that made you forget any argument you might have had.

You sighed but couldn’t resist. It was impossible to resist Finnick Odair, especially when he looked at you like that.

“Alright,” you murmured, allowing him to guide your steps.

At first, you stumbled more than you’d like to admit, stepping on his feet and letting out nervous laughs every time it happened. But Finnick just laughed along, holding you more firmly and whispering encouraging words.

Slowly, you began to relax. He guided you so effortlessly it felt like you were floating. Your steps became more natural, and the sound of the music and his presence filled every corner of your mind.

“I told you, you know how to dance,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of affection, like a wave whispering as it breaks on the shore.

You felt his words drifting through the air between you, so close that it was impossible not to notice the warmth emanating from him. Finnick’s skin was warm, heated by the day’s sun, with a slight hint of salt and sea breeze. His scent was an intoxicating mix of the sea and something citrusy, maybe orange or lemon, fresh and irresistible, as if summer had chosen to live inside him.

His fingers intertwined with yours were firm, but the hand on your waist brought a delicate contrast, as if he feared you might disappear if he didn’t hold you with such care. With every small movement, you felt the texture of fine sand still stuck at the edges of your shirt, a reminder of the day you’d spent together at the beach.

You looked up to meet his eyes—green so intense it felt like they contained the ocean itself. The smile Finnick wore now wasn’t the usual playful, teasing one. It was calmer, more intimate, as if he was seeing something in you that the whole world would never understand.

“You only say that because you love me,” you replied, your voice so soft it almost got lost in the music.

“Exactly,” he said without hesitation, his lips curving into a wider smile, one that warmed you from the inside out.

The music continued playing, but it wasn’t about the steps anymore. It was about the way he slightly tilted his head, as if he wanted to memorize every detail of your face. It was about how you swayed together, in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the song and everything to do with what you felt.

Finnick leaned in, and you could feel his breath, warm and soft, brushing against your skin. His fingers slowly slid from your back to the exact point where your waist curved, and the touch was so light it felt like a whisper.

"You're so..." He stopped, as if trying to find the right word. But before he could continue, you saw the spark in his eyes, and it was as if he didn’t need to say anything else. The silence was more eloquent than anything that could come from his mouth.

You stayed like that, slowly swaying in the center of the room. It didn't matter anymore what was around you; the entire world seemed to have been reduced to that small moment. His forehead gently pressed against yours, and the warmth of his skin mingled with yours.

His fingers traced a light line from your temple to the curve of your jaw. It was a touch almost reverent, as if he wanted to map every piece of you carefully, so he would never forget.

"I could stay like this forever," he whispered, his voice so quiet that it seemed meant only for you to hear.

His words carried a soft weight, as if they were woven by hand, each syllable imbued with something you couldn’t name but felt deeply. The warmth radiating from his skin seemed to envelop you completely, like the sun kissing the sand on a summer day.

You tilted your head back, your eyes meeting his. There was a light there, a mix of adoration and tenderness, that made your heart beat in a way that almost hurt. He didn’t look away, as if he were submerged in you, navigating through every emotion that passed across your face.

"I feel the same," you replied, your voice almost faltering—not because it was hard to say, but because the truth of those words filled every corner of your being.

Finnick smiled, that light smile, but so full of meaning it seemed to carry the world. His hand, still resting on your waist, applied a subtle pressure, pulling you just a little closer. The music playing in the background now seemed distant, almost irrelevant, replaced by the constant rhythm of your two breaths, so close it was hard to tell where his ended and yours began.

"I need to..." He started, but the words died on his lips, replaced by an action. Finnick tilted his head, the tip of his nose brushing against yours, a caress so light it made your eyes close reflexively.

His hand slowly moved up, leaving your waist to rest on the side of your face. His thumb traced a slow, almost hesitant path along the curve of your cheek. You felt his touch, warm, with the slight roughness of someone who had spent the day under the sun, yet still so gentle, as if it was made just for you.

"You make me... so lost," he whispered, his lips hovering just millimeters from yours.

And then, slowly, Finnick closed the distance. The kiss began soft, almost shy, as if he wanted to savor the moment in pieces. His taste was a mix of sea salt and something sweet that seemed inherent to Finnick, as if it were impossible to separate him from everything warm and tender.

The hand on your cheek slid to the base of your neck, and you felt his fingers gently intertwine with the strands of your hair. He pulled you closer, the movement as natural as breathing, as if he needed it to exist.

The entire world seemed to disappear. There was nothing left but the heat you shared, the sound of his breath mingling with yours, and the way your bodies moved lightly, still swaying to the rhythm of the forgotten music.

When Finnick finally pulled away, it was just enough to look at you again. His eyes were shining, so green and deep that you could swear they held the entire ocean.

"I didn't know I could love someone like this," he murmured, his voice thick with a raw honesty that made your heart tighten.

You smiled, feeling the tips of his fingers still resting on the line of your jaw, as if he needed to keep the contact. "I think you just stole my words," you said, your smile softening into something more intimate.

Finnick laughed, a low, satisfied sound, before resting his forehead against yours again. "Then we’re even," he whispered, his lips brushing yours in a light touch, like a whisper against your skin.

You stayed like that, your bodies so close it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. The sound of the music blended with the distant waves, but none of that mattered anymore. Everything you needed was rig

[charlesslut16]

-Hoping for You on Christmas-

summary : you meet charles for the first time on a christmas market hoping to see him again...

PAIRINGS : charles leclerc x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : I hope you love this!!!

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The crisp December air nipped at your skin as you wandered through the Christmas market, a soft blanket of twilight settling over the festive stalls. The glow of fairy lights twinkled against the darkening sky, and the smell of mulled wine, freshly baked pastries, and pine filled the cold air.

There was something almost magical about it—how the bustling market made everything feel warmer, more connected. The distant laughter of children, the soft murmur of conversation, and the cheerful jingling of bells created a world all its own.

It was early December, and already the streets were alive with the spirit of Christmas. People bustled about in scarves and coats, their breath visible in the frosty air as they huddled together, stopping at the brightly decorated stalls.

You couldn't help but smile as you wandered between them, admiring the handcrafted trinkets, the glimmering ornaments, and the small, delicate lights that lit up the night.

But despite the twinkling lights and the festive music, something was missing. It wasn’t the presents or the decorations or the food—though all of that was wonderful. No, what you were searching for was a feeling, a connection.

You had always hoped that Christmas could bring something more—a chance encounter, a spark, something that would remind you that the world was still full of possibility, of wonder.

As you made your way further into the market, the crowds seemed to fade away, replaced by the soothing sounds of carolers singing familiar tunes. Your steps slowed as you approached a stall filled with beautiful wooden ornaments—tiny reindeer, snowflakes, and hand-carved Santa's.

The craftsmanship was exquisite, and you found yourself mesmerized by the intricate details. You reached out to touch one of the ornaments, admiring the way the wood was polished to a soft sheen, when you heard a soft chuckle behind you.

"Careful, you might break it," said a voice, light and teasing.

You turned, startled, to see a man standing just a few feet away. He had dark brown hair tucked beneath a beanie, and his eyes—bright and mischievous—seemed to sparkle in the soft glow of the lights around you. He was tall, dressed casually in a jacket and jeans, his smile friendly and warm.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to," you said quickly, feeling a little embarrassed.

"No need to apologize," he said with a reassuring smile. "I was just kidding."

There was a brief moment of awkward silence as you both stood there, not sure what to say next. His smile was easy and kind, and for some reason, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something familiar about him, though you couldn’t place why.

"I’m Charles, by the way," he said after a moment, extending his hand with a casual, yet inviting gesture.

"Nice to meet you, Charles," you replied, shaking his hand. "I’m—" You hesitated, realizing you didn’t need to offer a full introduction. "I’m just here enjoying the market."

Charles nodded, his eyes glancing around at the lights and decorations. "Yeah, it’s nice, isn’t it? The Christmas markets always feel like stepping into another world for a little while."

You couldn’t help but agree. "It’s one of those places where everything feels a little more magical, even if it’s just for a moment."

His grin widened. "Exactly." He looked back at the stall, eyeing the ornaments. "They’ve got some great stuff here. I love how everything is handmade."

You smiled, glancing at the various wooden figures hanging around. "Yeah, it’s amazing. The craftsmanship is beautiful."

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you as you continued to admire the delicate decorations. The soft crunch of snow underfoot and the hum of the market around you felt peaceful, almost as if the world had slowed down just for a moment. But before you could say anything more, a gust of cold wind blew through the market, making the snowflakes swirl in the air.

"You know," Charles said, his eyes brightening, "this weather is perfect for something warm. How about we grab some mulled wine?"

You were a little taken aback at the suggestion but found yourself nodding without hesitation. "That sounds great."

The two of you made your way to one of the mulled wine stands, the scent of cinnamon and orange drifting in the air. The line wasn’t long, and before you knew it, Charles was handing you a cup of the warm drink, steam rising from it into the frosty air.

"Thank you," you said with a smile, surprised at how natural it felt to be with him.

He shrugged nonchalantly, his smile playful. "It’s nothing. I figured it’s the least I can do when we’re enjoying the market together."

You raised your cup. "To enjoying the market."

"To enjoying the market," Charles echoed, his voice soft but warm, and you both laughed, the sound mingling with the distant chime of Christmas bells.

For the next little while, the two of you wandered through the market, sipping your drinks, talking about everything and nothing. Charles was easy to talk to, and you found yourself drawn to the way he listened, the way his eyes sparkled when he spoke about his hometown in Monaco, or how much he loved getting away from the busyness of the Formula 1 season and soaking in the Christmas spirit somewhere quieter.

Eventually, the cold began to sink into your bones, and you both agreed it was time to head out. As you walked toward the exit, the snow falling lightly around you, Charles turned to you with a hesitant look in his eyes.

"So," he said, voice quieter now. "I’m going to be here for a few more days. Maybe we could meet again before I leave? If you’d like?"

You smiled, the idea of seeing him again sending a pleasant warmth through you. "I’d like that."

"Great," he said, his eyes lighting up. "I’ll be around. Just let me know when you’re free."

You both said your goodbyes and parted ways, each retreating into your separate worlds, but there was a spark, something small but undeniable, that lingered between you—a sense of possibility, the hope that you would see each other again.

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The days passed, and as much as you tried to push it out of your mind, you couldn’t help but think of Charles. You spent hours wandering the market again, hoping to bump into him, but somehow, he was always just out of reach. Y

ou told yourself not to get your hopes up, but that little part of you—the part that believed in fate—held on to the hope that he might appear when you least expected it.

As Christmas Eve approached, the market became even more magical. The lights seemed brighter, the air colder, and the scent of mulled wine and roasted chestnuts stronger.

But something still felt missing. You had hoped for a little magic, something special this Christmas, a connection that felt like it was meant to be.

It was December 24th, and you were standing by one of the stalls, staring at the lights, when you heard your name.

"Hey," came a familiar voice, and you turned quickly, surprised to see Charles standing just a few feet away, a wide grin spreading across his face. His eyes sparkled, just as they had before, and for a moment, it was like the world around you had paused.

"I didn’t expect to find you here," he said, his voice warm and playful.

You laughed, relief flooding through you. "I’ve been hoping to see you again."

Charles’s grin grew wider, and at that moment, everything else seemed to fall away—the market, the cold, the snow. There was just you and him, standing there, connected in a way that made everything feel a little brighter.

"Looks like the universe decided to give us another chance," he said, stepping closer.

In that instant, you realized that the magic of Christmas didn’t lie in the lights or the gifts—it was in the people we meet, the moments we share, and the connections we make when we least expect it.

"Maybe we could start a tradition," you said softly, your heart fluttering in your chest. "Meeting here every year, at the Christmas market."

Charles looked at you for a long moment, his eyes softening. He nodded slowly, a smile tugging at his lips.

"I’d like that," he said, his voice low but sincere.

And at that moment, Christmas felt a little more complete. The magic of the season was right there in front of you, in the form of a shared smile, a connection, and the promise of something more.