#make me feel those cast bonds

[coldgoldlazarus]

I feel like a boomer saying this but we need to bring back 24-52 episode tv seasons again

[totalswag]

hii, I’m not sure if you take request still but if so is there a possible way you can do a drew x singer!reader one shot take on how Sabrina “arrests” her fans before performing Juno for being too hot but the reader does it to Drew during her shows please 🫶🏼

arrested for being too hot — DREW STARKEY

authors note THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS!! my request box is still open so feel free to send me any ideas regarding singer!reader or regular fic ideas you’d like me to write. this was so much writing too. thank for all the love on my last fic lovies <3

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summary "arresting" drew, your boyfriend, during your show before performing your song from your new album.

warning(s) none!

You are on tour for your new album in-front of thousands of fans almost every night. You worked hard on this album and it turned out wonderfully. If it weren’t for the amazing fans of yours, you don’t know where you’d be in your career— they are the reason you are doing this.

Half way into the show— going amazing. The crowd tonight isn't disappointing you. Everything you've hoped for on this tour. You've performed eighteen songs and about to go onto your nineteenth. Played musical spin the bottle not long ago which was really fun.

Before Juno, you begin with a small "skit" where you call someone out in the crowd, arresting them for being too hot. This became a thing after your first show of the tour and doing it ever since. Plus, fans absolutely love it. Interacting with your fans has always been something you did and create those bonds.

Drew, your boyfriend, is attending the show with Madelyn Cline, a mutual friend and cast-mate of Drew's. You told him earlier today you wanted to arrest him in the middle of the show to get the audience excited and it would be fun.

Drew was all for it, and he didn't want you to tell him what you were going to say—he prefers surprises.

Your pink, glittering, dazzling clothing was sparkling in the lights. You pressed your free hand to your brow as though you were looking around for a call. With security, you could see Drew and Madelyn making their way to the front.

You begin by adjusting your earpiece while moving around the stage in your long skirt. "You guys know that moment when you are in a room filled with such beautiful looking people that you start to feel overwhelmed?" When fans applaud, you smile.

"Oh, girls, I think I just seen my future husband in the front row! Oh my god, girls, come here, come here," you say anxiously into the microphone, beckoning them over and waving your free hand.

You turn to face Drew as the girls approach you, asking, "Do you see that gorgeous looking man over in the front row with his arms crossed in the tan shirt?" You speak into the microphone aloud, pointing to Drew in the crowd.

Your girls joyfully waved at Drew while placing their hands on your shoulder. As Drew blushes on the big screen, the crowd reflexively turns up the volume in the arena. 

"What's your name handsome?" With your head cocked slightly to the right toward your shoulder, you inquire in jest. 

"Drew!" You can hear him when he places his hands on the side of his lips. He gives you a childlike smile and a flushed face.

You say, "I'm sorry I couldn't get that?" as though you couldn't hear him. Leaning forward more, you place your free hand behind your ear.

He shakes his head and utters "Drew!" a little louder. 

"Oh my Drew, I must say that you must be a magnet because you drew me in" brings a smile to your face. Your tone indicated that you were trying quite hard not to laugh, yet you kept your calm brilliantly.

Fans had their phones out, capturing the entire interaction. Nobody would have expected Drew to be the person arrested at your gigs since the tour began.

"Drew, you are under arrest for being too hot," you say aloud, smiling and pointing at him— fanning yourself, moving your hips side to side as the sound of sirens going off with blue and red lights behind.

You put your left elbow against your girls shoulder, "guys do you ever just see someone so good looking that you just don't know what to do and all your clothes fall off in that moment" your long skirt slips off smoothy.

"Like your brain just like malfunctions and like I just wanna handcuffed to you now like," one of your girls puts the pink fluffy handcuffs into your hand, you kneel down, "do you know what I mean? Will you take these from me?"

Drew is overwhelmed in this very moment— it's very obvious how much you are affecting him. Drew gives you a gimme me gesture with his fingers, ready to catch the hand cuffs.

He takes them in his hands, looks down, and feels the smooth texture of the fuzzy. He tilts his head to the side before slowly glancing up at you with a smirk—keep in mind that he's still on the big screen.

"We're gonna sing this one to you, Drew."

Juno's song intro starts playing. You wave goodbye to Drew and Madelyn as you return to the center of the stage. You could hear the two begin speaking to fans in the distance.

Drew and Madelyn met you in the dressing room following the show. After giving Madelyn a hug and thanking her for attending the event, you moved to approach Drew and put your arms around his neck while grinning.

"That was insane," Madelyn exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. "What about the full call-out and the handcuffs? Iconic! "You're the talk of the night; everyone is crazy about it."

You giggled as your face heated up. "It seemed right." "You should have seen his face!"

She laughs, "I got the whole thing on video, I'll send it to you later."

"I'm going to give you two some alone time, but you did such an amazing job tonight and looked so hot doing it," Madelyn adds, taking your hands in her and wiggling her brows. 

"Thank you, babe. I love you always," you say, hugging her before she leaves you and Drew alone. 

When you close the door, Drew comes behind you, placing his arms around your waist and kissing you on the cheek, making you laugh with the tenderness of his lips.

"I'm so proud of you baby, you did such an amazing job on stage and looked unbelievable in your outfits made me feel like the luckiest guy in the entire world." He expresses emotionally, which uplifts you. 

"Coming from you, it warms my heart baby. Forever grateful to have you in my life," you smile softly, leaning against his chest, feeling that sense of warmth you always feel whenever you are with him.

"And I'm forever grateful for you" he quietly responds, kissing the top of your head.

"So what are we gonna do with those pink fuzzy handcuffs?"

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[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, kidnapped reader, murder of nameless side characters

♡ fem reader

Thinking about that moment of violent change you’re forced to go through when your loving boyfriend becomes the terrifying man you don’t recognize—and how it completely eradicates the reality you’d grown so comfortable in, realizing it was all some perfectly orchestrated lie.

Rope burns on your wrists and ankles, tears streaking your chunky cheeks, and a poor soul’s blood on your pretty face belonging to some guy who’d gotten a little too close for comfort.

He’d cut him down like it was nothing.

The knife is held still by his side, a shining red murder weapon, dripping on the floor in the growing pond by his feet. He sighs heavily, casts his head back then looks behind him, beholding you through slim eyes, clicking his tongue, “Look what you made me do…”

He wouldn’t be the only one… several victims followed in his bloody path—witnesses who’d seen him struggle with you, kicking and screaming for all your worth, trying anything to get away. You were all too easily manhandled into the car, and could only watch behind the locked door, banging with bound fists on the glass while he gutted other passersby who’d threatened to call the police.

Driving off, he growls at you, first to shut up and then, “That was your fault—if only you’d been a good girl, none of those innocent people would have had to die.” His knuckles whiten on the wheel, wringing it in his stained grip—scarlet on ivory. “If you don’t want any more blood on your hands, you better sit pretty and not cause me any more trouble.”

You sob uncontrollably and inconsolably despite the threat—you can’t stop yourself—you can’t even comprehend his words. None of it makes any sense. You’d seen it all, and yet you can’t understand it—any of it. You’d watched the sweet guy you knew shed his skin and become a monster right before your eyes. It must be some bad dream, some terrible, awful, horrible nightmare.

But even if it is, you don’t want him touching you ever again. It makes you physically sick to your stomach to think you’d ever shared a bed with him—exchanged sweet nothings in the damp heat of each other. No, no, no, it’s not the same person—it can’t be. It can’t be true. What about the smiles you’d shared over breakfast, those times you’d surprised each other at lunch, all the dates, all the gifts, all the kisses, the future you’d talked about?

You’d fallen in love. But you’ve fallen in love with someone who doesn’t even exist.

He makes sure the door to the bedroom’s under lock and a key he stores somewhere you won’t find it. You squirm in your bonds on the bed when he approaches, shivering with whimpers under his hands, flinching at his touch while he unties you, then cringing as he angles your face to look at him—wanting to pry free, anything not to look into those changed eyes.

You hadn’t thought his build was imposing before, it hadn’t struck you as lethal. Naively, you’d thought him cozy—a big chest and a warm embrace he would scoop you up in, a safe place you could live. He’s cold now, menacing and filthy from his crimes—the body of a killer, a cold-blooded murderer. He’s so big it makes the room feel too small for the both of you. Claustrophobic.

He forces your gaze to him, and it’s all you see, those eyes, those unrecognizable eyes, with that look within you can’t understand, beholding you with burden.

“I still love you,” he states, though it angers him. “Even though you broke my heart. I still love you.”

You shake your head, or you try to, but it results in only tiny tremors caught in his hand where he keeps your chin, bloody fingers buried in your plump cheeks, squeezing so hard you wince.

“But it doesn’t come for free,” he seethes with an awful sneer. A type of grimace you’d never thought him capable of, overfilled with disdain. “My love is earned. And after all you did today, you’re in deep debt.”

He lets go of your face with a nasty shove, taking a mean grip on your shirt instead, using both fists to tear it down the middle. You yelp and cover yourself, but that only angers him further—causing him to grab your wrists and pin them to your side. You think you feel your joints popping.

“Test me, and I’ll hurt you,” he growls, his teeth bared at your ear where your face curls to hide itself in the pillow. “I don’t want to, but if that’s what it takes to make you sorry, then so be it. Be good, and I won’t have to take it that far.”

You lie as still as you can muster while he removes the rest—roughly as he goes—your bra, your skirt, your underwear. You only snivel and toil with the sheets in weak little fists, making your joints cramp up—feeling raw under him, at the mercy of those blood-dried hands.

You understand what he’s about to do, and yet it doesn’t really dawn on you before you hear the sharp ringing of his belt buckle being undone. You don’t look, but you don’t close your eyes either—the room is already dark enough that closing your eyes would make you feel too close to death. So, you keep your gaze fixed to the side, to the stale wall.

The bed bounces you as he shuffles. The urge to run bubbles within, but you know it wouldn’t be to your advantage. So your mind spins, thinking of other possibilities, growing ever more panicked when coming up empty.

He spits on your slit, then rears it with his spitefully erect shaft—pushing in without further prep. And you lose all sense of control.

Twisting at the attack, you scream again, “No! Stop—”

Your hands barely touch him before he’s answered the protest with a tightening grip on your neck. Unrelenting, your throat instantly snares, and you choke on any further outburst.

“I told you,” he chastises. “Why do you have to force my hand, huh?”

You gasp for any sliver worth of air, sipping through the cracks of his chokehold, but it’s very nearly sealed completely shut. You try lifting his grip with your own, both hands holding onto his wrist, wanting to pull loose but achieving nothing.

It’s so pitiful that he ignores the effort. Using his remaining hand to continue what he’d set out to do. Planting his tip at your unprepped entrance, he wasted no time before surging forward.

Your vision starts to spot, and your hands grow weak, barely hanging on.

“That’s good. Lie still and take it,” he groans—his lips on your cheek as he bullies through your dry walls, only aided by his spit. “And I might consider once’ enough.”  

You don’t have a choice, feeling your body go numb. He picks your thigh up over his hip and drives deeper—starting a steady pace without letting go of your throat, squeezing the life out of you. Your hands finally drop, lying limp, and still, you feel it deep within—the thrusting as he beats your sorry cunt into an aching mess, then fills you up with awful warmth.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Nanami, Geto, Naoya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[aliteralsemicolon]

Yours - 18+

Masterlist

Spencer never thought he’d be lucky enough to find you, but he has. You have all his devotion and all he hopes for in return is for you to let him stay yours.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story contains strong themes and detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING: Smut: softdom! Spencer, grinding, hickies, penetration, PinV, unprotected sex (this can lead to babies & stds btw, avoid this by being fivehead and using a condom), creampie. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 5.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

The question regarding the existence of soulmates is not a question that can be answered using science. Any individual’s answer to the question is more of a personal belief than a factual answer. And as a man of science, one would think that Spencer Reid would at least attempt to refute the ideology when asked. 

The ideology that he himself is not whole, but only half of an intertwined soul. That another person is not only his other half, but also his better half. Somebody with whom he shares such a natural, deep understanding, that he feels complete simply by existing in their presence. It’s one of those phenomena he can’t explain, but only this one, he’s confident is true. 

“Spence?” A light nudge accompanied by the whisper of his name breaks him away from his thoughts.

“Hm?” He blinks rapidly, focusing his eyesight on your curious face with a matching look.

The light from a singular bedside lamp only reaches half of his face. It casts a beautiful, soft contrast on his sharp features. The gold that’s usually hidden by the brown makes his irises look like sparkling pools of honey. Ethereal -not a word you would use when normally describing a man- but that’s how he looks. 

“Do you believe in soulmates?” 

He hadn’t ever thought he could believe in such a thing. Mostly because he’d always been sure that he would never experience it. 

“Do you?” His voice carries your question back to you. 

You can hear the city buzzing outside. Cars honking angrily in a futile attempt to speed up the pace of the traffic. People conversing, arguing, laughing. Loud thuds of music from the upstairs neighbour who cares little about the piling noise complaints. Somehow, the hum of Spencer’s words is the only sound that your ears register. 

“I asked first.” You playfully scoff, breaking eye contact and swivelling your head straight.

Spencer mirrors your motions, both of you now facing the ceiling as you remain side by side on his bed. 

“Yes.” His answer is barely above a whisper. 

It seems that your bodies want to make up for lost contact. You can feel his pinky reaching out to touch yours as you meet him halfway. 

“Me too.” 

A comfortable silence takes over the conversation. Everything feels still. The only movement is that of his fingers grazing against yours. He’s touched you in far more personal places tonight alone, and this is still one of your most intimate moments. There are no expectations or hidden agendas. This is simply the two of you existing in each other's presence; his preferred way to exist. It stretches until another inane question makes its way to the forefront of your mind.

“Do you ever wonder if you’ll get to meet them in this lifetime?” 

He pushes his frame up and rotates to face you as he sinks back down to the mattress. His head rests on the arm folded below it. You turn your head back to him so that you’re both holding eye contact again. 

“No.” He mouths the answer, his voice hesitant to raise at first. “I wonder whether mine is a romantic bond or platonic.” 

Your stomach flutters at the insinuation and you shift to mirror his position this time. In the midst of shuffling, the two of you seem to have closed a good chunk of the distance between you. 

“What do you want it to be?” You whisper, entranced by his gaze. 

Two of his knuckles lightly skim your cheek before those fingers brush your hair away from you. The act alone is enough to make your face heat up, no matter how many times he’s done it before. He begins to lazily stroke your hair, scratching your head in the process. It gives you the same tingling sensation you get from some rare ASMR videos. 

You don’t follow up on your question, unable to remember anything that was on your mind beforehand. His touch, combined with the minimal lighting and close proximity provides you with a sense of security you rarely feel otherwise. Your lids begin to grow heavy and you're forced to break eye contact when the weight of them becomes too much. 

“That’s really distracting y’know.” You mumble, eyes closed and voice hazy. 

“I know.” He mutters, almost without sound. 

He can’t help his smile as he watches you drift to sleep. He’s studied every feature on your face at least a hundred times and he’s yet to find a single flaw. The fact that you’re okay with being this vulnerable with him is a privilege that he’ll thank any and every deity he doesn’t even believe in for. Faint snoring indicates that you’re now dead to the world, but he can’t let your previous question go unanswered. 

“Whichever one allows me to be yours forever.”

Waking up to the warmth of your body pressed against his is by no means a recent development in your relationship with Spencer. Your back is to his chest and his arm is draped across your stomach, trapping you against him. Not that you mind. You’ve been lying still as you are for almost a while now, your thumb caressing the side of his wrist. With a yawn nuzzled into your neck, Spencer attempts to pull you closer to him, closing distance that was never there to begin with. 

He can feel the rise and drop of your chest; you can feel the beating of his heart behind yours. Neither of you is fully awake yet, opting to enjoy the silence and comfort of the other's presence. Your bodies are so closely tangled that your skin is almost melding with each other. 

Almost. 

The unexpected brushing of his hardness against your ass sends a jolt of electricity passing through you, waking you up in an instant. If it were anybody else, perhaps you would’ve felt ashamed of how that passing moment made your insides jump. You definitely wouldn’t have arched your barely clothed cunt towards the obstruction. A sharp exhale fans across the back of your neck, and you can practically feel the corners of his lips pull into a lazy smirk. 

“Well, good morning.” A groggy voice leans into your ear and the grip on your belly tightens.

“Morning.” You breathe out, barely audible.

You feel yourself clench around nothing when a hot, sticky kiss lands just behind your ear. Your arch intensifies when another one lands below your jaw and you unintentionally grind against him. It earns you a low grunt from him, which only prompts you to repeat the motion without thinking. His head drops in the nook of your shoulder, taken slightly off guard. He meets you halfway the third time, and it sets both your hips in a slow motion of rubbing against each other.

He can hear you hum each time his confined erection strokes your bundle of nerves and it sparks a determination in him to get more out of you. His hand trails from your abdomen to your pelvis, stopping just at the band of your underwear. He tugs the fabric, not making any further moves until you allow him to. You know that if you don’t take control now he’s going to prolong his foreplay, something you don’t have the patience for right now. He always makes it a point to make you finish at least once before he even considers himself. 

Out of the four times you came the night before, three of them were with his head between your thighs. You can’t even count the number of times you’ve teased him about how he probably gets off on pleasing you more than you do. You surprise him when you grab his hand and push it away from you, swinging yourself around to straddle him. Your hands land on either side of his head and you lower your forehead to rest against his. 

“Nuh-uh!” You taunt and it makes him snort. 

His palms trace your sides, arms wrapping around you, pulling your torso down to him.

“You’re not allowed to touch me this time.” You add in a hushed tone.

“No?” His brows raise in amusement.

“No.” 

You barely breathe out the word when his arms drop from around you. A slight chill takes over the area.

“No!” You repeat in a whiny tone, pushing yourself to sit up. 

You’re looking down on him from this angle, and God, does he look beautiful. His fluffy, sleep-tousled hair frames his face beautifully, the faint light of the rising sun only adding to the sight. 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it!” 

“I don’t know. You need to be clearer with what you want.” He chuckles. 

“I want you to stop being a little shit.” You retort, reaching for his hands.

You attempt to settle them on your thighs, but he removes them again. 

“I’m not allowed to touch you. Remember?” He emphasises the word allowed on purpose.

Both of you know that he’s the only one allowed to touch you and vice versa. Even if it wasn't something you both agreed upon, you’d never let anybody else touch you like him. If they even knew how to.

“You can touch me.” You roll your eyes, pulling his hands back to your skin. “But you can’t fuck me with anything other than your dick.”

Your curt tone doesn’t surprise him. He’s used to your boldness. Using your hips, he pulls you down onto his bulge completely. You don’t anticipate the sudden friction and it takes everything in you to not topple over on him. Spencer wasn’t prepared for the impact of his actions either, his head lolling back as he hisses sharply. 

“Yeah?” He questions through half gritted teeth. 

He’s painfully hard and the current view isn’t helping. He can clearly make out the shape of your curves under your flimsy t-shirt. How it drapes on the apex of your breasts, how the hem pools just above your thighs. His grip tightens against the plush of your skin. 

“Mhm.” You breathe out, eyes fluttering as you keep your core pressed to him. 

“Words, sweet girl. Use your words.” His breathing is laboured and it’s taking all of his willpower to not rut his dick back up against you.

The praise breaks you. You can no longer hold yourself up, falling into his chest. 

“Please fuck me.” You can only whisper in his ear, sending chills down his spine. 

He groans, grabbing you by the waist and flipping both of you around so you’re the one lying on the bed. It seems that he’s become just as impatient as you, if not more. He captures your lips in a deep, demanding kiss as he tugs his boxers just enough for his length to spring free. His tongue swipes your lips, seeking entrance and you grant it to him. He finds your kisses addicting. It takes an incredible amount of willpower to break them, but he does, sitting up on his knees. 

He parts your legs, placing one on either side of him and yanking you closer to him. You squeak in response, not processing the action until your cores are once again pressed together. You sigh when he pushes your panties to the side and runs a finger up your slit. A satisfied hum escapes him when he learns just how aroused you are. You sigh when runs his tip against you next, lining himself up with your cunt and pushing just the tip inside. Each of his hands intertwine with yours as he moves them above your head. He then leans in and plants a feather-light kiss on your cheek. 

“Like this?” He whispers in your ear.

He pushes in a little more and pulls out just enough for him to stay lined.

“More!” You whine, breathlessly, brows furrowing from anticipation.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t properly acknowledge your desperation and instead latches onto the skin under your jaw, sucking gently. 

You sigh at the sensation, arching more as his shaft pushes in again. This time, he doesn’t stop until he’s completely bottomed out. You moan and squeeze his hands, still intertwined with yours above your head. You never expect how full he makes you feel. Spencer squeezes your hands in return, still reeling in from how well your cunt accommodates him. He takes a minute, resting himself inside you to allow time for both of you to adjust to the feeling. 

He releases your skin with a small pop and moves a new spot on your neck. You think about how you’re going to have to use concealer to hide the marks he’s surely leaving behind and it makes you clench around him. The effect on him is instantaneous, a harsh groan vibrating against your throat and he sucks harder. The sound only makes your walls tighten more and it cues him to start thrusting. 

The initial pace is slow, but calculated; the kind that makes your joints loosen and jaw slack. He takes the opportunity to capture your lips in another long and consuming kiss. A loud moan ripples out from both of you and your hands deepen their hold on each other. Spencer’s not shy about letting you hear how good you make him feel and that drives you insane. 

Your hands instinctively try to reach for his hair, but he’s pinned you down tight. You whine into his mouth, pressing your fingers between his knuckles. Your whine fizzles out into a series of smaller whines when his hips speed up, hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. 

“Mm–Spence–mmph–”

You try to break the kiss to speak, but he simply drops a quick kiss on your jaw before reclaiming his place against your lips. He’s too lost in the taste of you to pay full attention. It takes you a moment to find the willingness to try again, but you do. You arch your hips too high for him to be able to follow from this position, forcing him to slip out from you and try to remove your hands from his grip. His focus is brought back to you and he lifts himself back on his knees, releasing you. 

“What’s wrong? Have I hurt you?” 

“M-mm” You shake your head and push yourself up on your hands.

You then shift into his lap, draping your arms around his shoulders. He gives you a curious look, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“I want to be able to hold you.” You admit with a slight shyness in your tone.

A light smile spreads across his face, brows arching in surprise. Being a genius and all, he’s always known he was needed in some way or another. You’re the first person who’s ever made him feel wanted, truly wanted. With no motive other than simply existing with him. It sparks a new desire, one you see light up behind his eyes. He leans into your lips, his hold on your waist tightening and he moves one arm to cradle the back of your head. 

You pull yourself flush against him, wrapping your arms around his neck as your tongues dance together once more. He lifts you up and places you back down against the mattress, mouth never leaving yours. You feel his palm raise one of your legs by the back of your knee and he’s entering you again. He rests that leg on his shoulder, while the other hangs by his waist and begins to build an unrelenting pace. 

You wail into his mouth at the intensity of his thrusts, eyes rolling behind closed eyes. It’s almost brutal, the way he’s slamming into you. Your hands desperately cling onto his bicep and shoulder, nails digging into the skin. His grunts and groans increase each time he gets deeper, if that’s even physically possible and it only makes you desperate for more. Your kiss breaks with a slight sting against Spencer’s lip. You didn’t realise how hard you were biting it in an attempt to stay grounded. 

There’s a shift in the atmosphere that you can’t explain. Even though Spencer was railing you so hard that even the bed had begun to cry out, there was an overwhelming sense of longing between you two. An ache to express how you belong to the other, hidden behind an uncouth sight. It’s compensation for those lack of words, a physical exchange expressing your biggest secret. He’s everywhere; your current position has you feeling Spencer in places you didn’t deem possible. 

His mouth works over whatever exposed skin it can access along your jaw and throat, leaving goosebumps and bruising stains in its wake. His cock is driving into you so fast that you swear it’s going to imprint on your walls. There’s a fire in you, one that only he can put out. Every inch of him can be felt within every inch of you. Now you’re truly melded with each other. 

“Fuck–oh my God!” You scream out, your nails digging harder into his flesh. 

He’s consuming all of your senses, at this moment you don’t know anything other than him. Eyes open or closed, all you can see is his sculpted face. You’re drowning in his scent. Melting at his touch. The taste of his kiss still lingers on your tongue. Your ears are flooded with the slaps of his skin meeting yours and your mixed moans and grunts. 

“Spen–fuck–gon–fu–cum!” 

He hasn’t even spared your ability to speak. With a short kiss, he brings his forehead back to rest on yours in a firm manner. 

“Me too, pretty girl.” He pants his sentence in broken pauses. “Me too.” 

He secures the leg on his shoulder from the back of your thigh and then brings the other leg on his other shoulder. It gives him room to drive himself deeper and makes you lose all control, every joint in your body threatening to fall limp. Your face contorts and you bite your lip, trying to control the flurry of screams. It results in high-pitched whines forcing their way out. 

“Spencer! I can’t–I can’t–I can’t” 

You can’t hold on any longer. 

“I know. I know.” There’s barely any voice accompanying his words. “We’ll do it together, okay? Where do you want me?”

“Inside–inside–ins-shitshitshit…” 

“Inside? Inside.” He struggles to keep himself together while talking you through it. “Ready?” 

You nod fervently and he steals one long, final kiss from you as he finally empties himself in your spent cunt. Your own orgasm crashes through in a long passing wave. You feel like you’re floating in the ocean with millions of stars as your only view for miles. He follows up with a few final thrusts, burying himself as far in you as possible. 

When you finally come to, Spencer’s pulled out and is lying right next to you. Peppering kisses over your face in intervals and muttering praises as strokes away hair glued to your face. 

“Did so well.”

“So good to me.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

For some reason, the water always feels nicer running down your body when you use Spencer’s shower. He’s a simple man; he doesn’t really have a lot of products to use besides the basic shampoo, conditioner, soap, and body wash. The exfoliators, masks and such were your initial additions that he keeps topping up after they run out. 

You haven’t said much since coming out of your euphoric state, only showing your gratitude and appreciation through small touches. Brushing a hand against his cheek, leaving a peck on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. He doesn’t mind your silence. It doesn’t deter him from showering you with praise while he looks after you. You’re so disorientated that you’re letting yourself be guided from one instruction to the next. 

“Lift your leg for me, sweet girl. Hand on my shoulder.” 

He helps you act out his command, grabbing your wrist and draping it on his shoulder while helping you lift your leg. His touch is tender, but he’s careful to cover every area with body wash. 

“Good girl.” 

You don’t physically react, but his approval makes you swell with pride. Sex is the least intimate part of your time with Spencer. What you really enjoy is how safe he makes you feel. You know that even if you show him your worst and ugliest moments, he won’t reject you. You trust him with parts of you that you barely trust yourself with. 

Anybody who’s touched your naked body before him doesn’t matter, because not one of them has gotten to touch it past the realm of physical pleasure. To you, the act of washing one’s body is so private, so sacred that it can’t be trusted with just anybody. How many are able to look past the lens of sexual release and view your skin and bones as something to cherish? Not even you can claim to view yourself in such a precious way. 

But Spencer does. 

Even as pats you dry and wraps you safely in a warm towel, he doesn’t demean your worth. They’d be thoughts he could easily keep hidden in the comfort of his own mind, but the thoughts simply don’t occur. You don’t realise how long the two of you are standing there, leaning into each other's arms against the counter. Nor do you realise how long it’s taken you to mentally return to him. The first thing you do notice is so trivial, it’s almost laughable. 

“You’re out of apple juice, by the way.” 

Even you’d laugh if you heard yourself bring up something so random.

“Do you want apple juice? We can go buy some more.” He replies in a quiet mumble.

In his presence, you can think such thoughts without the concern of being laughed at. 

“No, I’m not gonna make you go to the grocery store just for apple juice.” You shake your head, expression oozing sarcasm. 

“I need to buy a lot more than apple juice. I’m pretty sure I don’t even have enough to make eggs or coffee.” He snorts, running his fingers through your hair. 

“Right. I forgot, Mister F.B.I.” You snort back, playfully poking his arm. “How was your time in Alaska?” 

It’s really common for your brain to malfunction around Spencer. You don’t feel the need to think or stay on alert if he’s with you. 

“Grim. Bleak.” He keeps it short on purpose. 

He doesn’t want to taint what little time he has with you focused on the gory parts of his job. Or any parts of his job at all. He spends too much of his time there as it is, so he’d much prefer to keep that part of his life separate from you. Spencer didn’t understand what it truly meant to live until after you came into his life. He’d never admit it out loud, but being around you made him realise how much of his soul his job steals from him, piece by piece. You make it whole again.

“How bad was it?” Curiosity still gets the better of you at times.

“Awful. You weren’t there when I woke up every morning.” He steers the conversation again. 

“Uh-huh.” You smirk, looking up at him. “You say that to all your girl-friends the morning after?” 

He takes a small step back, creating space as he cups your face.

“Even if I had the social skills required, when do you honestly think I would have the time between being at work and being with you?” 

“When you’re at work. Duh.” You tap his temple, playfully, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He scoffs, unamused. It’s something Spencer can’t honestly even imagine. You’re his solace, his best friend…his person. 

“Get dressed.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “We’ll stop by that bakery you love and get some food in your system. Hopefully before your suggestions start becoming more and more insane.” 

You don’t appreciate the awestruck look on his face when you’re certain you’ve got chocolate lining the corners of your mouth. You attempt to glare at him, but it doesn’t last and you find yourself fighting back a smile.

“Cut it out!” You groan, stringing out the end of your sentence. 

The trolley comes to a halt as you stop to grab your phone, but he snatches it out of your hand before you can open the camera.

“Hey–”

“I’m revoking your phone privileges until your urge to keep checking your reflection fizzles out.” He states casually, slipping the phone into his pocket as he reaches for a loaf of bread on the top shelf. 

“Revoking my– what are you my fucking mother?” You reach for his pocket, but he grabs your wrist before you can retrieve your phone. 

You try to use your free arm, but he traps that one in his hands too. 

“I don’t wanna walk around with chocolate around my mouth!” You whisper-shout, mindful of other shoppers passing by.

“For the fifth time, you don’t have chocolate anywhere on your face. It wasn’t there after you finished your shake and it won’t be there no matter how many times you check.”

You ignore him, trying to free yourself from his grip.

“You don’t believe me?” The look on his face is more entertained than shocked.

“Spencer, my fluffy-headed, genius bookworm, I would put my life in your hands if you asked me to but after that time you let me walk around with my lipstick smudged–”

“That happened one time!” He gripes, less concerned about his volume. 

“I looked like I came straight off the clock from a circus!” 

“It wasn’t that bad!” 

“Six hours, you let me walk around like that!” 

If he were to be completely honest, he was completely enraptured by your long tangent about why you despise dolphins. Most of it wasn’t based on facts and the parts that were, weren’t really a feasible argument since morals are a uniquely human concept. However, that was the day he uncovered how brightly you light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about. He spent the rest of that time, subtly digging, trying to figure out the topics that made you glow so he could keep bringing them up. 

“There’s nothing there. Your face is– looks perfect.” He fumbles on his words.

“I can feel it!” You protest.

“That happens because–”

“Reid?” An unfamiliar voice calls out from behind you.

Spencer lets go of your wrists as you turn to face the owner of the voice. Two blondes, one behind the other. One of them is a lot more colourful and bold, with large statement jewelry and a pair of gorgeous platform heels that match her dress. The other is less vibrant, but with no less confidence and blue eyes that stand out like diamonds shining under lights. 

“Hey! What are you guys doing here?” 

You’re not a profiler, but you don’t miss the immediate shift in Spencer’s demeanour. He seems a lot more reserved and shy, as compared to the confidant and playful version of him that you know. 

“We’re picking up some things for my birthday bash this weekend.” The brown-eyed blonde chirps. “The one that I will definitely see you at, no excuses allowed!” 

“Right.” He gives an awkward, tight-lipped smile. 

Spencer loves his coworkers, he really does. They’re basically his family. However, he wants nothing more for them to go away right now. Not for any reason other than wanting to keep you away from them, because he knows them. For all their amazing qualities, there’s one that annoys him the most and that’s how nosey they can be. Especially when it comes to him. 

“Hi. I’m JJ.” The blue-eyed blonde takes the initiative to introduce herself, reaching out her hand for a friendly shake.

He knows it’s from a place of love. He’s the youngest member of the team, they all want to protect him, but he detests how they coddle him. He can already sense the incoming invitation from Garcia to her birthday. He knows that it won’t take long for you to befriend everyone on his team, because, well, they’re all amazing people. Integrating you with that part of his life is something he’s just not ready for. Not like this.

“I’m Penelope and oh my goodness, you are just gorgeous!” 

He enjoys how when he’s with you, he can exist in a separate bubble. Where all he is, is not the resident genius of the BAU. More than that, he knows of the dangers that come with integrating the two separate lives. He’s seen the losses that occur, whether they be by generic circumstances or unplanned deaths. And there’s nothing he can do to stop his worlds colliding, a fact he has to grasp as soon as he zones back in to find three sets of eyes staring at him, expectantly.  

“Right.” He clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “These are my– um– this is Penelope Garcia and Jennifer Jareau, or JJ. We work together.” 

The introduction is hesitant and rushed at best, but you chalk it up to him being taken off guard. You want to gauge his mood, try and figure out where his head’s at, but that’s going to have to wait. 

“Oh my God! I knew it!” Garcia gasps dramatically, taking your hand in hers. “You’re the reason he’s always in a rush to leave now! It is so nice to meet you!”

Garcia’s not wrong. You are the reason he’s always in a rush to get away. You’re his escape from the harsh realities he faces every day. You’re unsure of how to respond. In fact, you’re not even certain as to what’s going on. Nobody else seems to match Penelope's enthusiasm. Spencer looks mortified, while JJ looks like she wants to drag Penelope away. Still, everybody’s too frozen to stop her. 

“Did you know that you have him checking his phone more than a lovestruck teenage girl? Him! One of the biggest technophobes I’ve ever met!”

This is also a fact. Spencer’s not an idiot. He’s not oblivious to the open-mouthed stares he gets every time he’s caught smiling like a dopey idiot after looking at the screen. He’s just never cared. It’s almost impossible to ignore any notification from you. He doesn’t feel great about that coming to bite him in the ass right about now. 

Given different circumstances that were more in his control, Spencer would be elated to introduce the most important people in his life to each other. This whole interaction is actually shorter than he feels it is, but for Spencer, time moves too slowly. He can sense how the safety of your company as he knows it, the most valuable aspect of his life, is under threat of being ripped away from him with every second that passes. Without you, Spencer would once again find himself lost. 

“Spencer, you have to bring her to my bash this weekend! Everybody would love to meet your girlfriend!” Garcia wiggles her eyebrows, eyes smirking beneath her glasses.

Because all he is, is yours. 

“Oh! Uhm–” You begin.

“No Garcia, she’s–this is…my friend..” He adds at the same time, unable to hide his stutter.

At least, that’s all he wants to be.

“Right…we’re just…friends.” You confirm with a half-hearted smile at the reminder of your reality. 

It was better this way. The two of you agreed on this at the start of your arrangement. 

Spoilers: Mostly just fluff, a sprinkle of angst, smut, lots of mutual pining, friends with benefits.

AN - I felt a surge of evil take over my bones when I wrote this and any events that unfolded were out of my control. This is not my finest work, but once I thought of it I had to share it. Also I know I said not to bother me about fics bc uni and I still mean that, I just don’t know what happened. It’s like I got a bit of inspo and couldn’t help myself. Huge thanks to @mrs-dr-reid for beta reading! FWB Writing Challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins Prompt - "I wanna be yours" by Arctic Monkeys

No bc writing that opening scene on the bed might be my favourite and u should tell me if u agree bc I wanna write more like that, but if u hate it then I won't.

Thanks for reading.

[a-mythologynerd]

Upon thought and reflection. Wow. Am I seriously disappointed. But like in the I can’t stop laughing about how bad that was way. Welp. I’m just gonna go reread the books.

[pedgito]

𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄, 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐖 | Joel Miller x reader

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | set in the world of handsome, dirty, rich. joel is celebrating your one year anniversary with a few surprises. alternatively: how fast can ali turn a new pedro pic into a fic? also, bless @undercoverpena —she set me on a dangerous path with this one.

content warning | sugar daddy!joel, reader has no description other than a vague mention of a dress, thigh riding, borderline public sex/voyeurism, the use of a certain undergarment for pleasure, fingering, established relationship, sneaking around, subtle dom!joel & brat!reader, pure filth i do not apologize, un-beta'd

word count — 2.7k

He’s rented out the entire restaurant. All for you.

It doesn’t dawn on you at first, but as the primly dressed workers attend to you at the door, carefully removing the coat off your shoulders while another guides you toward the table in the corner of the restaurant—the rest of the space was dimly lit, except here. The overhead light casted a warm but pale yellow glow down on the table. Two plush, leather chairs that you were sure cost at least half of your monthly rent—not that you paid that, either. Joel had made sure of that.

You tried to deny it in the beginning, to fend off his constant willingness to make sure you didn’t have to stress or lift a finger when it came to finances—that you could focus on your degree without any outside distractions. 

Your relationship was still something kept between the both of you, a sacred bond in a bubble that hadn’t been popped yet. It was perfect, too perfect. And you refused to give that up just yet.

“Really?” You ask, scrunching the dress up near your hips as you take a seat in the pulled out chair, careful that it wouldn’t ride up too high, but it seems futile as the moment you both hit the seat, Joel’s palm is settling between your legs. His palm curls around your left thigh, a comforting gesture he did whenever he had a moment to touch you—it doesn’t move, doesn’t linger too close or too far, it’s just there. You rub your thumb over his knuckles and smile. 

“I shoulda told them I wanted the center table, huh?” Joel joked, flashing that perfect smile, his cheek dimpling. “Only the best for my girl.”

“Oh, because the empty restaurant you rented out wasn’t enough?” The playful resonance in your tone makes Joel chuckle, but quickly fades as he sees one of the several waiters approaching.

He orders some fancy bottle of wine you can’t pronounce and you can’t help but stare. He’s so…dressed down, compared to you. A simple white shirt, black jeans that he’s worn on several occasions but always hugging his thighs in a way made your mouth fucking salivate.

You weren’t even five minutes into this date and you were ready to cut short and run, saddle up over his lap in the driver’s seat of his truck and sink down on his cock for a quick five minutes of pure bliss, feeling the full extent and intensity of his love for you in the way he let his guard down in those moments.

The second you’re alone he’s moving his hand from your thigh to the nakedness of your neck, sliding around the back and guiding you toward him, a surprisingly gentle kiss against the column of your throat followed by a soft, “Never enough, baby.”

God, he was in a mood today.

It was nearing a year of making…whatever this was official. It wasn’t asking for your hand in marriage or even to be his girlfriend, just a silent agreement that you both wanted whatever it was that you felt for each other, regardless of labeling it. And that was what worked the easiest for you both. You tried not to think about it too often, the outside distractions and betrayals you were allowing to happen when buying into his attraction to you.

But, right now, that was the last thing on your mind.

Joel does all the ordering—a three course meal of chef’s choice that came with a hefty tip.

So, they were very good at leaving you alone. Just as Joel had requested.

“Did you like your gift?” Joel asks after some time, using the cloth napkin to wipe at his mouth, peering up at you as he forks another piece of food into his mouth.

Gift. You huff a soft laugh through your nose behind closed lips.

“Oh, those—” You roll your eyes playfully, poking at your food with your fork, “yeah—of course.”

And you were absolutely wearing them, just like he asked.

A sleek, lace pair of panties with a matching bralette, but the very obvious bump of a vibrator tucked away in the gusset of your underwear was a dangerous, dangerous game. They didn’t come with a remote but you knew exactly where it was, watching the smile on Joel’s face grow more relaxed as he was on his third cup of wine, but somehow more drunk on the sight of you.

“Wearin ‘em?” Joel asks, just to be sure. “Like I told you?”

“Why don’t you find out, Mr. Miller.”

He hadn’t heard that in a minute, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as he reached blindly, but with careful precision for the remote in his pocket.

The buzz startles you at first, but it was faint. You could ignore it easily, so you did.

“Eat up,” You motion to him and his forgotten third-course, a too sweet dessert that neither of you could finish on your own, but you were willing to do anything to distract him, “don’t be rude.”

Joel quirks an eyebrow up and chuckles, “Mouthy tonight? Alright.”

It was a specialty of yours, knowing just the right amount of brattiness to get under Joel’s skin.

The vibration picks up without warning, Joel now leaned back in his chair, left leg crossed over right and his hands resting in his lap, pointedly placed over the obvious growing bulge in his jeans that he was attempting to hide.

You hand grips the table in shock, jostling the silverware slightly.

Another soft laugh from Joel and you shoot daggers in his direction.

“In public? Seriously?”

“We’ve done worse,” He shrugs, “remember that night down at the beach over the summer?”

You did. Very well, in fact.

He had fucked you so hard the ache didn’t go away for a week, right there, on the beach—a group of college kids partying not even less than 20 yards away. You knew they were watching and maybe it was the result of genuine, human curiosity. But, the whistles and shouts—it sent a bolt of excitement down your spine, causing you to squeeze around Joel’s cock as he pumped into you, coming inside of you with your face pressed into the sand.

It wasn’t your proudest moment, but damn did it make the ache between your thighs so much worse as the memory floods your mind and Joel seems to notice you becoming spacey, nudging it up a few more notches and that causes a seering look of warning, teeth gritting as you gripped for his thigh, blunt nails digging in while your other snuck between your thighs, gripping hard on your dress as you squeezed your legs shut against your hand.

“Come here,” Joel says as he beckons with two fingers, curling them in a way you were all too familiar with.

“Joel, not here—” You stress, looking around at the vacant restaurant. 

You couldn’t even hear them moving around in the kitchen anymore. You turn back to Joel and he’s still waiting, daring you as he scoots his chair back a few more inches. He offers a hand, gently removing the one gripping his thigh and you feel your body moving against your better judgment, so willing and pliant to his touch.

He maneuvers you until you’re straddling his thigh, hand gripping your waist as he forces you to take a seat, the broadness of his thigh, the taut muscle against the press of the vibrator as it forcefully dug into your already swollen clit. You gasp, gripping the tablecloth in desperation. 

“Go on,” Joel encourages, “right here—I already know what you want, baby.”

You used to think he only enjoyed the idea of you using anything but his cock to get yourself off, but you quickly realized that it was your favorite thing to do—it was the only time he got cockier than usual, more teasing, seeing how easily riding his thigh would unravel you. It felt primal, that need for release and it was building in your core, that tingling heat lingering in wait.

“If they come back—”

“They won’t,” He stresses, his voice gruff and low as a palm spreads out over your back, the other one finding its home on your thigh, so dangerously close to the hem of your underwear underneath the silk dress, “slipped them a note—”

“Don’t tell me you t-tipped them so you could get your fuckin’ rocks off in the middle of din—” Joel increases the vibration another level and your jerk, holding back the strangled moan that dared to escape as you cant your hips against his thigh, “fuck, Joel. This is—”

Joel shushes you, fingers crawling up your back until he can grip the back of your neck, holding it tight as he pulls you up, head falling back instinctively against his hand, “Ride it, sweetheart.”

You can’t help the subtle rock of your hips, eyes scanning the room anxiously—you’ve never been this intimate in public, at least not with the looming chance that anyone could walk in and see you; arms spread out to grip the table cloth and Joel’s hands all over you, leaning forward over his leg. The table provided enough cover that unless someone decided to step within a few feet, they couldn’t see anything. 

Still, your heart raced.

“Come on,” He teases, the subtle twang to his voice that had you clenching around nothing, the constant hum of the vibrator tucked away in your panties doing nothing to help quell the ache, “I rented out this restaurant for us, asked them to give us some privacy and you’re still feelin’ shy?”

“If someone were to walk by, Joel—”

Joel grips at your neck tighter suddenly, pulling you until his chest is against your back.

“I’ll turn that thing all the way up if I need to and it’ll stay on ‘til we get back home.”

His place, he means. He often called it home because it had become that to you. You had your own place, your own things, but you still found yourself there more often than not. A drawer in his closet tucked away with your belongings, your toiletries tucked away in a cabinet so Sarah wouldn’t ask questions. You’ve become masters of this game of hide and seek, managing to keep this entire thing quiet for close to a year.

Maybe it was just dumb luck.

He adds emphasis on his statement as his other hand slips between your legs and under the silk hem of your dress, palm pressing flat against your cunt and leaving you no room to wiggle away, hips jerking against his touch as you moan out, your hand slapping over your mouth at the sound.

“I’ll give you the next sixty seconds, baby,” Joel warns, glancing down at the shiny Rolex on his wrist, “if you don’t come, it’s gonna be a hell of a ride back.”

As if to make you suffer more, he slips a finger between the wet, sticky fabric of your underwear and over the line of your cunt, dragging through your slick and slipping a finger inside of you wordlessly, angling the vibrator stuffed inside the gusset of your panties against your clit with perfective precision—feeling the throb of your pussy around his fingers, the tight clench of your walls, you find yourself rocking against his thigh mindlessly, desperate to chase that relief.

You couldn’t breathe—the feeling caught in your throat as he lifted his leg only a few centimeters higher, foot raised off his heel, your dress slipping up slightly higher under his grip and allowing him a clear view of your ass, the delicious curve and the black lace that clung to your skin. He could pull his cock out and get himself off there within just a few minutes if he really wanted to and slip himself inside you right as he came, knowing how much you enjoyed being stuffed full of him.

“Attagirl,” He commends you, a grin growing on his face that you unfortunately can’t see, but you feel it—his gaze, the hot press of his hands on your body, “just like that.”

Your eyes fall closed, heading bowing as he releases his hold on your neck to grip at the fabric bunched at your waist, slipping his hand over bare skin, fingertips pressing into the flesh of your waist, aiding in the hurried rock of your hips. The feeling of fullness comes from his fingers when he slips in a second, squeaking out a quiet “Fuck,” as your hand slips, slapping against his other thigh for support, accidently brushing your fingers against the remote tucked away in his pocket and dialing up the vibrator to the max, unknowing that it was only a level off.

“‘’S right there, darlin’,” Joel softens his tone, picking up the pace of his fingers fucking into you, his grip on your hip tighter, undoubtably ruining his jeans for the night, but he clearly didn’t mind.

The feeling builds—the quick and constant stimulation does nothing to help, sending you flying over the edge with a gasp, crying out Joel’s name as he keeps you stuck, pulling out his fingers in an instant and turning off the vibrator, leaving you to wade through the orgasm untouched.

“There you go, baby,” He coos, “makin’ a goddamn mess on my jeans, aren’t you?”

You nod, feeling dizzy as your head spins and your body goes light, whining through the sensitive friction of the denim against your cunt and Joel slides a comforting hand up your spine, rubbing against the middle of your back.

“Still with me, baby?”

You nod quietly, raising your head up slowly.

Joel chuckles lowly, patting gently at your thighs until you turn sideways in his lap. He smiles softly at the disheveled state of you, much less composed than a moment ago.

“What was that about?” You ask after a moment of gentle care, his lips pressing against your neck, chin, before pressing against your lips in the most tame kiss he’s ever given you.

He’s checking in.

“Wanted to cross somethin’ off my list.” 

You raise your eyebrows in pleasant surprise, a small laugh bubbling from your chest as you adjust your dress over your chest, “A list? Like…for sex?”

Joel shakes his head, pulling his lips together in a nonchalant frown. 

“No—well, there’s some of that on there but…things I wanna do with you.”

“Oh,” Color you intrigued, you push one of his imperfectly styled curls back behind his ear, “care to share?”

Joel swipes a dollop of whipped cream on his fingers and shakes his head, “Where’s the fun in that, baby?” You shrug as he presses the cream to your lips and you open dutifully, allowing him to press the whipped sweetness against your tongue, mixed with the taste of yourself as you close your lips and suck just for show, kissing his fingertip teasingly as he pulls away and pinches playfully at your thigh.

You laugh airily, reaching for your phone on the table as you turn to him, pulling up your camera.

“Wait—you really have to see the look on your face,” Instead of keeping the dumbstruck look on his face, he brings his hands to his mouth in the act of blowing you a kiss and you snap the picture with a smile, letting out a startled yelp as he tips you back slightly, nearly into the table as he angles your body to allow his lips to touch your ear.

“Take those off,” He tells you, “otherwise I’ll be tempted again.”

“No self control, Mr. Miller?”

Joel catches your chin between the thumb and pointer of his left hand, cutting off the small giggle that starts to escape your mouth and his eyes are pensive for a brief moment before softening, “Do as I say, darlin’. We got a long drive back.”

You nod, feeling his thumb swipe over your bottom lip before he’s helping you off his lap, swatting at your ass playfully as your feet hit the floor. 

“Yes, sir,” You reply flippantly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek before you disappear. 

Joel smirks to himself as he reaches for his wallet.

You were right, without a doubt.

Joel had no self control when it came to you and he quickly realized that he’d be willing to do just about anything to make you happy.

-

divider creds: @/saradika-graphics

[pucksandpower]

Bite Me

Day 25 → Monsterfucking 💋 Carlos Sainz

Warnings: 18+ content, vampires, and dubious consent

Kinktober Masterlist

Carlos lies beside you, the weight of his arm draped over your waist, fingers tracing absent-minded circles on your skin. The room is dim, with only the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting silver shadows on the walls. You shift slightly, turning your head to meet his gaze — those dark, unfathomable eyes that hold centuries of secrets.

He catches your movement, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You’re restless,” he murmurs, his voice deep, rich like aged wine. “What’s on your mind, mi amor?”

You hesitate, the words forming but refusing to leave your lips. His eyes search yours, and you can feel him pulling the thoughts from your mind without effort.

You’ve always wondered about it — how he knows you so well, how he can sense the shift in your emotions before you even understand them yourself. It’s not just the years you’ve spent together. It’s him, something innate, something ancient.

“Why haven’t you ever bitten me?” You ask, the question finally slipping out, almost a whisper.

Carlos’ fingers still on your skin. His gaze hardens, though his hold on you remains tender. “Why do you ask this now?”

You shrug, trying to act nonchalant, though your heart betrays you, thudding loudly in your chest. “I’ve just … I’ve been thinking. You’ve told me about what you are, how you became this way, but you’ve never-” You swallow, feeling suddenly exposed under his scrutiny. “You’ve never fed from me.”

He sighs, the sound heavy with a burden only he seems to carry. “It’s not something I take lightly.”

“I know that,” you say quickly. “But … don’t you want to?”

Carlos shifts, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look down at you, his expression unreadable. “Want to? Amor, of course I want to. There is nothing I want more than to taste you, to have you be a part of me in the most intimate way possible.”

You shiver, both at his words and the way his gaze darkens, almost as if he’s imagining it now. His thumb brushes your lips, his eyes following the movement as if he’s mesmerized.

“But I won’t do it,” he adds, pulling his hand back as if burned by the thought. “I refuse.”

“Why?”

Carlos’ jaw tightens, his gaze flickering to the window, to the world outside. “Because you don’t understand what it means, what it does. It’s not just a bite, cariño. It’s a claim. A bond. It’s forever. I won’t risk your soul for something so … selfish.”

“Selfish?” You frown, pushing yourself up to mirror him. “Carlos, you’re not selfish. You’ve never asked me for anything. Not even this. But what if I want to?”

His eyes snap back to yours, sharp and intense. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Then tell me. Help me understand.”

Carlos leans back against the headboard, running a hand through his dark hair. The movement is so human, so vulnerable, that it makes your heart ache. “It’s hard to explain. It’s not like in the stories. The bite — it’s pleasure, yes, but it’s also pain. It changes you. It connects us in ways you can’t undo. If I bite you … you’ll be bound to me. Forever. There’s no turning back from that.”

“And what if I want that?” You ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “What if I want forever with you?”

His eyes close, a pained expression crossing his features. “You deserve more than this life, this half-existence. You deserve to live, to grow old, to have children if you want them. You deserve a future that I can never give you.”

“I want you,” you say, voice firm. “I’ve always wanted you. You’re my future, Carlos. You know that.”

He shakes his head, a bitter smile on his lips. “I’m not worth that sacrifice.”

“Let me decide that,” you counter. “You always talk about protecting me, about giving me a choice. Well, I’m choosing now. I choose you. I want all of you, not just the parts you think are safe.”

Carlos’ gaze softens, the conflict in his eyes evident. He reaches out, cupping your face with both hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he repeats, but this time, there’s a crack in his voice, a tremor that betrays his resolve.

“Then show me,” you challenge, leaning into his touch. “Show me what it means. I’m not afraid.”

“You should be.”

“Maybe. But I’m not.”

For a long moment, the room is silent, the tension between you a palpable thing. Carlos’ breath is shallow, his grip on you tightening, as if he’s trying to anchor himself, to resist the pull of his own desires.

“I’ve lived so long,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper. “Seen so much. I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved. I couldn’t bear to lose you too.”

“Then don’t,” you whisper back. “Don’t lose me. Keep me. Isn’t that what you want?”

He doesn’t answer, his eyes darkening, the conflict in them warring with the longing you can see. It’s so close, the tension between you a hair’s breadth from snapping. His breath mingles with yours, his lips hovering just above your skin, his eyes locked on yours.

“Carlos,” you breathe, and it’s both a plea and a surrender.

His hands tighten on your face, and for a moment, you think he’s going to do it, that he’s going to give in to the primal urge you can feel radiating from him. But then, with a low growl, he pulls away, rolling onto his back, covering his eyes with his arm as if the darkness might swallow the desire coursing through him.

“I can’t,” he mutters, the words thick with regret. “I won’t do that to you.”

The rejection stings, even though you understand his reasoning. But it doesn’t lessen the ache in your chest, the longing you feel. You roll onto your side, facing him, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart — an oddity in itself, a reminder that he’s not like you, that there’s a gulf between you no matter how close you are.

“Carlos,” you say softly, tracing patterns over his skin, “if you won’t do it, then tell me why. What are you really afraid of?”

His arm falls away from his eyes, and he turns his head to look at you, his expression weary. “I’m afraid of losing you. Of what that bite would do to us.”

“Then let me reassure you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He lets out a hollow laugh, the sound bitter. “You say that now, but you don’t understand. You wouldn’t be the same after. You might hate me for it. And I couldn’t live with that.”

“I could never hate you,” you insist, moving closer, so your body is pressed against his, your warmth bleeding into him. “I love you, Carlos. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks at you, his eyes softer now, full of a tenderness that melts some of the hardness inside you. “You say that now. But forever is a long time, amor.”

“Not long enough,” you counter, brushing your lips against his, a gentle reassurance. “Not for us.”

Carlos’ fingers trail down your spine, slow and deliberate, making you shiver. “You’re too good for me.”

“Or maybe you’re too good for me.”

He laughs softly, but it’s a sad sound, full of longing. “I don’t deserve you. Not your love, not your devotion. But I’m a selfish man, and I can’t let you go.”

“Then don’t.”

He looks at you, and you see the decision forming in his eyes, the resignation mixed with desire. “If I do this, it’s forever. You’ll be mine, completely, in ways you can’t even imagine.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in. “I know. And I’m ready.”

Carlos closes his eyes, inhaling deeply as if trying to steady himself. When he opens them again, they’re darker, the brown nearly black. He leans in, his lips brushing against your neck, sending a thrill down your spine.

“Do you really want this?” He asks one last time, his breath hot against your skin, his fangs barely grazing the surface.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice trembling with anticipation. “Yes, Carlos. I want this. I want you.”

His grip tightens, and for a split second, you feel the sharp points of his fangs press against your skin, poised to break through. The world narrows down to this moment, the sound of his breath, the feel of his body against yours, the anticipation so thick you can barely breathe.

But then, just as quickly as the moment comes, it passes. Carlos pulls away with a low growl, rolling off the bed and standing, putting distance between you. “No. I won’t.”

You sit up, confused, hurt. “Carlos-”

He holds up a hand, his back to you. “No. I can’t do this. I can’t condemn you to my life, to this existence. I love you too much to do that.”

You stare at his back, anger and hurt knotting in your chest. The distance he’s put between you feels like a chasm, like something that might never be crossed again. But you refuse to let it end here, to let him make this decision without understanding how much it means to you.

“Carlos, turn around,” you demand, your voice trembling, but resolute.

He doesn’t move. His shoulders are tense, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. It’s like he’s fighting a battle within himself, one you can’t see, but can feel in the air, thick with unspoken words and untapped emotions.

“Please,” you plead, softer now, trying to reach him. “Look at me.”

Finally, he turns, but the expression on his face is one of torment. His dark eyes are haunted, filled with a deep sorrow that makes your heart ache even more.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking,” he says, his voice rough, as if every word is a struggle. “This isn’t just a moment of passion, amor. This is your life we’re talking about. Your soul.”

“I do understand,” you insist, pushing yourself off the bed and taking a tentative step toward him. “I’ve thought about this, Carlos. I’ve thought about it so much. And I’ve made my decision. I want this. I want you. All of you.”

He shakes his head, backing away from you, the pain in his eyes cutting deep. “And what happens when you regret it? When you realize that you’ve given up everything — your humanity, your future — for someone like me?”

“I won’t regret it,” you argue, closing the distance between you. “I love you. I want to be with you. I want to share everything with you, including this.”

Carlos’ jaw tightens, and he turns his head away, as if he can’t bear to look at you. “You’re asking me to damn you, to bind you to a life that isn’t really living.”

“Maybe that’s what you believe,” you say, reaching out to touch his arm, the warmth of your skin meeting the coolness of his. “But that’s not how I see it. To me, this is living. Being with you is living.”

His eyes snap back to yours, and there’s a flash of something — desperation, need, fear. “You’re asking me to do something I can’t undo. Once I bite you, once I take your blood … there’s no going back.”

“I know,” you whisper, your fingers trailing down his arm, finding his hand and squeezing it. “And I’m okay with that. I’m ready.”

Carlos’ hand trembles in yours, and you can feel the tension in him, the way he’s holding back, the way he’s trying so hard to protect you — even from yourself.

“Please, Carlos,” you beg, your voice breaking. “Please. Don’t push me away. Don’t make this decision for me.”

He inhales sharply, as if your words have struck him, and for a moment, you think he’s going to deny you again. But then his grip tightens on your hand, and he pulls you against him, his arms wrapping around you in a fierce, possessive embrace.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “But if this is what you truly want … if this is what you need … then I’ll give it to you.”

Your heart skips a beat, relief flooding through you. “It is. It’s what I want. More than anything.”

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression a mix of longing and torment. “There are so many places I could bite you,” he says, his voice low and husky, each word laced with desire. “So many ways I could claim you.”

Your breath hitches as his hand trails up your arm, his fingers ghosting over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “Show me,” you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation.

Carlos’ eyes darken, and he leans in, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck, right where your pulse beats furiously beneath the surface. “Here,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “The neck is traditional. It’s intimate, close to the heart. But it’s also dangerous. One mistake, and …”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but you know what he means. The neck is risky, the blood vessels close to the surface, the possibility of draining too much, too fast, always a threat.

“But there are other places,” he continues, his lips moving down to your collarbone, kissing the hollow there. “The collarbone is sensitive, a place where the skin is thin, the blood rich. It’s … pleasurable.”

Your fingers curl into his shirt, your body trembling as he moves lower, his mouth trailing down your arm, stopping at the inside of your elbow. “Here, the veins are close to the surface. It’s a slower process, more drawn out. Some say it’s the most intimate because it’s less about hunger and more about connection.”

His lips graze the inside of your wrist, and you shiver, the sensation almost too much. “The wrist is quick, efficient. It’s what we use when we’re in need, when we’re desperate.”

You’re barely breathing now, your pulse pounding in your ears as he moves lower, down your body, dropping to his knees before you. His hands glide over your thighs, pushing up the fabric of your nightgown, exposing your skin inch by inch.

“But there’s one place,” he says, his voice a deep rumble, vibrating through you, “that’s the most pleasurable of all. The femoral artery.”

You gasp as his hands part your thighs, his fingers tracing the sensitive skin there, his mouth hovering just above the spot he’s describing. “It’s deep, powerful, connected to the core of you. The blood is richest here. It’s where the pleasure is … overwhelming.”

Carlos’ words send a shiver down your spine, a mixture of fear and desire coiling in your stomach. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and intense, waiting for your response.

You nod, your voice catching in your throat. “Yes. Yes, Carlos. Please.”

His eyes darken further, a predatory glint flashing in them as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, right where the femoral artery pulses beneath the skin. “Are you sure, amor? Once I do this, there’s no going back.”

“I’m sure,” you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation and desire. “I want this. I want you.”

Carlos closes his eyes for a moment, as if steeling himself, before looking up at you again, his gaze locking with yours. “Then lie back, mi amor. Let me show you what it means to truly be mine.”

Your heart races as you do as he says, lying back on the bed, your legs parted just enough for him to kneel between them. He moves with a grace that belies the intensity in his eyes, the hunger that you can feel rolling off him in waves.

He leans over you, his hands bracing on either side of your hips, his body caging yours in. You feel his breath against your skin, the warmth of it contrasting with the coolness of his touch. His lips ghost over your thigh, making you shiver, the anticipation almost unbearable.

“Last chance to change your mind,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need, but also with concern.

“I won’t change my mind,” you assure him, your voice steady, despite the wild beating of your heart. “I trust you, Carlos. I want this.”

He nods, his gaze holding yours for a long moment, before he lowers his head, his lips brushing over the spot on your thigh where the artery pulses. You can feel the tension in him, the way he’s holding back, even now, trying to control the hunger that you know is clawing at him from the inside.

And then, with a soft growl, he gives in. His fangs sink into your flesh, piercing the artery, and a shock of pain lances through you, sharp and sudden. But it’s quickly followed by something else — something warm and deep, a pleasure so intense it takes your breath away.

You gasp, your back arching off the bed as the sensation floods through you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, a mix of pain and pleasure that’s almost overwhelming. You can feel him drawing from you, the pull of your blood as it flows into him, as if he’s taking a part of you into himself, claiming you in a way that’s both physical and spiritual.

Carlos’ grip on your thighs tightens, his body pressing closer to yours as he drinks, the growl in his throat deepening, vibrating through your skin. The connection between you sharpens, the bond forming in that moment, and you can feel him — his emotions, his thoughts, the depth of his love for you, the hunger that’s been denied for so long.

It’s too much, and yet not enough. You want more, need more, the sensation building to a crescendo inside you, threatening to drown you in its intensity. You can’t hold back the cry that escapes your lips, a sound of both pain and pleasure, as Carlos drinks deeply, the bond between you solidifying, becoming something unbreakable, eternal.

And just when you think you can’t take any more, when the pleasure is about to tip into something else, something darker, Carlos pulls back, his fangs sliding from your flesh.

Your body trembles beneath him, every nerve on fire as the sensation of his bite fades, replaced by a different kind of need — one that is more intense, more primal. Carlos’ lips linger on your thigh, his breath hot against your skin as he laps at the small puncture wounds, each touch sending sparks through you. The pain has morphed into pleasure, a deep, pulsing ache that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

Slowly, Carlos begins to kiss his way up your leg, his mouth tracing a path of heat along your skin. Each kiss is deliberate, a promise of what’s to come, and you can feel the tension building in your core, tightening with every brush of his lips.

When he reaches the apex of your thighs, he pauses, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. His eyes are dark, filled with a hunger that sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ve never tasted anything sweeter,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “You’re everything, mi amor. Everything.”

The words send a rush of warmth through you, and you gasp as he presses his mouth against the bundle of nerves that’s already so sensitive, so primed. His tongue flicks over it, teasing, tasting, before he sinks his fang into the delicate skin with a precision that leaves you gasping, your body arching into him as the sharp pain gives way to an overwhelming flood of pleasure.

It’s too much, too intense, and you feel yourself tipping over the edge, a cry tearing from your lips as the pleasure crests, crashing over you like a wave. Carlos doesn’t stop, his tongue lapping at the release, drawing out every last ounce of your pleasure, until you’re trembling, boneless beneath him.

As the aftershocks of your release fade, you’re left panting, your heart racing in your chest. Carlos pulls back, his eyes heavy-lidded, his lips glistening with the remnants of your release. There’s a reverence in the way he looks at you, a kind of awe that makes your heart squeeze.

“I could never have imagined …” His voice is husky, almost reverent as he speaks. “You’re perfect, mi amor. I’ve never tasted anything so sweet, so pure.”

You’re still trying to catch your breath, your mind spinning from the intensity of what just happened. But even through the haze, you can sense the change in him — the way he’s looking at you, the way his touch is more possessive, more reverent.

He sits up slightly, one hand still resting on your thigh, his thumb brushing over the marks he’s left on your skin. His other hand rises to his mouth, and you watch, mesmerized, as he bites into his own wrist, his fangs piercing the skin with ease.

The sight is strangely beautiful, the dark blood welling up from the wound, and your breath catches as he holds his wrist out to you, the offer unspoken but clear.

“If you take this,” Carlos says, his voice low and serious, “there’s no going back. Our connection will be permanent, unbreakable. It will be something that words can’t describe, something that transcends everything.”

You stare at his wrist, your mind racing. You’ve come this far, crossed lines you never thought you would. But this — this is different. This is forever. It’s not just about desire or love; it’s about binding your soul to his, about becoming something more than human.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you look up at him, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. But there’s nothing there but certainty, a deep, unwavering conviction that this is right, that this is what he wants — what he needs.

“Carlos,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion. “Are you sure?”

His gaze softens, and he leans down, brushing his lips over yours in a tender, lingering kiss. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, mi amor. You are everything to me. Without you, there’s nothing. With you … there’s everything.”

His words wrap around your heart, and you know, deep down, that this is what you want too. You’ve always known. There’s no turning back now, no second-guessing. This is the moment where everything changes, where you choose him — forever.

You reach up, your hand trembling slightly as you take hold of his wrist, your fingers brushing over the wound. The blood is warm, almost hot against your skin, and as you bring his wrist to your lips, you can feel the connection between you deepening, solidifying.

Carlos watches you, his gaze intense, as you press your lips to his wrist, the taste of his blood filling your mouth. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced — a mix of power and warmth, a connection that thrums through your veins, setting every nerve alight.

As you drink, you can feel the bond forming, something deeper than love, more primal, more eternal. It’s as if your souls are intertwining, becoming one, and you know that this is forever — that no matter what happens, you’ll never be alone again.

When you finally pull back, you’re breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. Carlos leans down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours as you both come to terms with what you’ve just done.

“We’re bound now,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and reverence. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. Forever.”

The weight of his words settles over you, but instead of fear or doubt, all you feel is a deep sense of rightness, of belonging. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek.

He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your palm, his eyes never leaving yours. “Te amo,” he says, the words filled with a depth of emotion that takes your breath away. “More than I ever thought possible.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you pull him down into a kiss, needing to feel him close, needing to solidify the bond you’ve just created. He responds immediately, his lips moving against yours with a passion that leaves you dizzy, your body arching into his as the connection between you flares, burning bright and hot.

The world around you fades away, leaving only the two of you, bound together in a way that transcends everything else. It’s more than love, more than desire — it’s a union of souls, something that goes beyond the physical, something that words can’t fully capture.

As you lose yourself in the kiss, in the feel of him against you, inside you, you know that this is where you’re meant to be. That no matter what comes next, no matter what challenges you face, you’ll always have Carlos by your side.

And that, more than anything, is what makes this moment perfect.

***

The days blur into weeks, then months, each moment with Carlos etching itself into your very being. The bond between you deepens, growing more intense, more consuming with each passing night. It’s as if every fiber of your existence has been rewired, attuned to him and the pleasure he brings — a pleasure that has become intrinsically linked to his bite.

It happens gradually, almost imperceptibly at first. The way your body responds to him shifts, your desires sharpening, focusing on the exquisite pain-pleasure of his fangs sinking into your flesh. It’s as though you’ve been conditioned, your body trained to crave that sensation, to need it in a way that feels as vital as breathing.

Carlos notices it too. He’s always been attuned to your every reaction, but now there’s a deliberateness to his touch, a calculated precision in the way he teases you, pushes you right to the brink and then holds you there, on the edge of that abyss, until you’re practically begging for his bite.

And you do beg. You plead with him, your voice breathless, desperate, as you arch against him, needing that release only he can give. It’s a need that runs deeper than anything you’ve ever felt, a craving that consumes you whole.

Carlos indulges you, but there’s a darkness in his eyes when he does, a look of concern that lingers even as he gives you what you so desperately desire. It’s as if he knows the power he holds over you, the way he’s shaping you, molding you into something that’s more his than your own.

And yet, even with that knowledge, he can’t resist you. He’s as much a slave to your connection as you are, caught in the web you’ve spun together, tangled in the threads of desire and love that bind you.

One night, as you lie together in the dark, the world outside forgotten, Carlos’ hand drifts down your body, his touch feather-light, tracing patterns on your skin. The tension is already coiling in your belly, your body responding to him instinctively, anticipating what’s to come.

“Carlos,” you whisper, your voice a plea as you tilt your head to the side, offering him your throat. It’s become almost ritualistic now, this dance you do together — the way you give yourself to him, the way he takes.

He hesitates for a moment, his fingers brushing over the marks on your neck, the ones that have healed over but are still faintly visible, a reminder of the many times he’s bitten you there. “Are you sure?” He asks, his voice low, tinged with that same concern that’s been growing more frequent lately.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “Please, Carlos. I need it. I need you.”

The words are raw, stripped of any pretense, and you see the way they affect him, the way his gaze darkens with a mix of desire and something deeper, something that borders on regret.

But he doesn’t deny you. He never does.

His lips ghost over your skin, soft and teasing, before he bites down, his fangs sinking into the tender flesh of your throat. The pain is sharp, but it’s immediately followed by that rush of pleasure, that intoxicating mix of agony and ecstasy that only he can bring you.

Your body arches into him, your breath catching in your throat as you cling to him, needing to anchor yourself against the wave of sensation that crashes over you. Carlos’ hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding that bundle of nerves that’s become so sensitive, so primed for him, and you cry out as he rubs slow, deliberate circles there, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

But it’s not enough. It’s never enough without his bite, without that sharp, exquisite pain that sends you spiraling into oblivion. And Carlos knows this — he knows you too well by now, knows exactly what you need, what you crave.

He pulls back from your throat, his lips stained with your blood, and you whimper at the loss, at the way your body tightens with unfulfilled need. But then he’s shifting, moving down your body, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, each one a promise, a prelude to what’s coming.

When he reaches that spot between your legs, he doesn’t hesitate. He presses his mouth against you, his tongue flicking over your clit with a precision that has you gasping, your hips bucking against him as the pleasure builds, sharp and intense.

And then you feel it — the sharp sting of his fang as it nicks that delicate skin, a jolt of pain that sends you careening over the edge, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave, so powerful it leaves you breathless, trembling beneath him.

Carlos doesn’t stop. He laps at your release, his tongue gentle now, soothing, as if he’s trying to ease you down from that high. But there’s a hunger in the way he moves, a desperation that mirrors your own, as if he’s just as consumed by this need as you are.

When he finally pulls back, his gaze is intense, filled with a mix of satisfaction and something darker, something that sends a shiver down your spine. He’s still kneeling between your legs, his hands resting on your thighs, holding you in place as if he’s afraid you might slip away.

You’re still catching your breath, your mind spinning from the intensity of your release, when you see him bite into his wrist again, the motion almost automatic now, a part of your shared ritual.

But this time, something inside you shifts. As he brings his wrist to your lips, the words spill out before you can stop them, a plea that’s been building inside you for weeks, maybe even longer.

“Carlos … turn me.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning, and you see the way they affect him, the way his entire body goes still, his gaze locking onto yours with a look of shock, of fear.

“Don’t say that,” he whispers, his voice harsh, almost pleading. “Don’t ask me for that.”

You shake your head, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m serious, Carlos. I want this. I want to be with you, forever.”

His grip on your thighs tightens, and you can see the battle warring within him, the conflict between his desire and his fear. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says, his voice raw with emotion. “You don’t know what it means to live like this, to be bound by this curse.”

“I don’t care,” you say, your voice firm, resolute. “I want you, Carlos. I want everything that comes with you. I’m not afraid.”

He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching as he struggles to maintain control. “You should be afraid,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You should be terrified.”

“But I’m not,” you insist, reaching up to cup his face, forcing him to look at you. “I trust you, Carlos. I know you’ll take care of me. I know you’ll never let me become a monster.”

His eyes search yours, and you can see the pain there, the agony of knowing that you’re asking him to do something that goes against everything he’s ever wanted for you. But you also see the love, the overwhelming depth of it, and you know that he won’t be able to deny you — not when it comes to this.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice breaking with emotion. “I need this, Carlos. I need you. Please, turn me.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. But then, slowly, he nods, his expression one of resignation, of acceptance. “Okay,” he says, his voice hollow. “Okay.”

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, a gesture that’s both tender and heartbreaking. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I’ll love you forever.”

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you, grounding yourself in the knowledge that this is right, that this is what you both want, what you both need.

And then you feel it — the sharp, burning pain as his fangs sink into your neck, deeper this time, more final. The pain is excruciating, a fire that spreads through your veins, consuming you from the inside out. But even through the agony, you can feel the love, the connection, the bond that’s deepening with every drop of blood he takes.

Your vision begins to blur, the edges darkening as the life slowly drains from you. But there’s no fear, no regret — only a deep, abiding love, a certainty that this is where you’re meant to be, where you’ve always belonged.

As the darkness closes in, you hear Carlos’ voice, soft and broken, the last thing you hold onto as everything fades to black. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice filled with a sorrow so profound it cuts through the haze, piercing your heart even as it stops beating.

And then there’s nothing.

***

The transition from mortal to vampire is startlingly smooth, almost effortless. Carlos had warned you — countless times — about the challenges, the inevitable struggles that come with your new existence. But those struggles never seem to materialize. Instead, you find yourself reveling in your newfound abilities, your senses heightened, your strength amplified. The world feels different, richer, as if you’ve been given the key to unlock its deepest secrets.

You’ve always been adaptable, but this … this is something else entirely. The hunger that gnawed at you in the first few days is now a familiar, almost comforting presence, easily sated with each hunt. The speed and agility that come so naturally to you feel like an extension of your own will, as if you were always meant to move this way, to live this way.

Carlos watches you closely, his concern never far from the surface, but even he can’t deny how easily you’ve taken to this new life. He’d expected turmoil, conflict — a struggle to reconcile your old self with the creature you’ve become. But instead, he sees you thrive, sees the joy in your eyes each time you embrace your abilities.

What he doesn’t see — what even you hadn’t expected — is how much you enjoy the power dynamics between the two of you. The bond between a maker and their progeny is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, a connection so deep, so intimate, it’s almost overwhelming. And with it comes a power that Carlos wields with an authority that both excites and unnerves you.

It’s not something you would have predicted. You’ve always been independent, headstrong, not one to easily submit to anyone’s will. But with Carlos, it’s different. There’s something intoxicating about the way he commands you, the way his voice slips into your mind, into your very soul, compelling you to obey.

You didn’t think you’d enjoy it. But you do. More than you’d care to admit.

Tonight, the tension between you simmers, a palpable energy that crackles in the air as you move through the shadows together. You’d pushed your limits earlier, testing the boundaries of your new life, staying out far later than you should have, pushing Carlos’ patience to its edge.

Now, as the first light of dawn threatens the horizon, you can feel his disapproval like a weight, a dark cloud hanging over you as you step inside. The door closes behind you with a soft click, the sound far too final, too ominous for your liking.

“Where were you?” His voice is low, controlled, but there’s an edge to it, a hint of the anger he’s trying so hard to keep in check.

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant as you brush past him, heading for the stairs. “Just hunting,” you say, your tone light, almost flippant. “I lost track of time.”

Carlos is on you in an instant, his hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you to a stop. “Hunting?” He repeats, his eyes narrowing as he studies you, his gaze piercing. “You nearly got caught by the sunrise. Do you have any idea what could have happened?”

You can’t help the small pout that forms on your lips as you turn to face him, your eyes wide, innocent. “I was fine, Carlos. I can take care of myself.”

But he doesn’t let go, his grip firm, unyielding. “That’s not the point, and you know it,” he says, his voice a low growl. “You were reckless. You put yourself at risk. And you made me worry.”

The guilt that flickers in your chest is quickly overshadowed by the thrill of his dominance, the way he’s looking at you now — like he could devour you whole, like he might just do it to prove a point.

You press your lips together, trying to suppress the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” you say, softening your tone, but there’s still a hint of defiance there, a challenge in the way you look at him.

Carlos’ eyes darken, and you know you’ve pushed him too far. “You need to understand something,” he says, his voice dropping even lower, each word a slow, deliberate threat. “I am your maker. When I tell you to be careful, you will listen. When I tell you to come home, you will come home. And when I command you to obey, you will obey.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, not out of fear, but out of something far more primal. The power he holds over you is intoxicating, and you feel it wrap around you like a vice, squeezing, tightening until you can barely breathe.

“Yes, Carlos,” you say, your voice a breathless whisper, your defiance crumbling beneath the weight of his command.

His gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the air between you charged with electricity. Then he releases your wrist, but the hold he has on you is far from gone. He steps closer, his body crowding yours, and you find yourself backing up until your back hits the wall, trapping you in place.

“You think this is a game,” he says, his voice soft now, almost tender, but there’s a warning there, a promise of what’s to come. “But it’s not. You need to learn, querida.”

Your breath hitches in your throat as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You like to push me, don’t you?” He murmurs, his voice a dark, velvet caress. “You like to see how far you can go before I snap.”

A shudder runs through you, and you tilt your head slightly, giving him more access, more control. “Maybe,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s as dangerous as it is seductive. “Then I suppose I’ll have to show you exactly what happens when you push me too far.”

Before you can react, he’s on you, his mouth crashing down on yours with a force that steals your breath, a kiss that’s more punishment than pleasure. But you crave it, need it, and you kiss him back with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He doesn’t let up, his lips demanding, his tongue claiming you, dominating you with a skill that leaves you dizzy, disoriented. When he finally pulls back, you’re panting, your heart racing, and you can see the satisfaction in his eyes, the way he’s already won this game you’ve been playing.

But Carlos isn’t done. His hand trails down your body, leaving a path of fire in its wake, until he’s gripping your thigh, pulling your leg up around his waist. “You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough with possessiveness. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

The words send a jolt of heat through you, and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips as he presses his body against yours, trapping you between him and the wall. You can feel his strength, the raw power that he so rarely unleashes on you, and it makes you tremble with anticipation.

“I’m going to punish you,” Carlos whispers, his lips brushing against your neck, right over the spot where he first bit you, marking you as his forever. “But you’re going to love every second of it.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his promise settling over you like a heavy, suffocating blanket. “Carlos …” you begin, but your words trail off as his hand slides up under your dress, his fingers finding the heat between your legs with unerring accuracy.

You gasp, your body arching into his touch, but he’s not gentle, not this time. His fingers are demanding, ruthless, as they tease you, taunt you, pushing you closer to the edge with each passing second. But even as the pleasure builds, a knot of tension coiling in your belly, you know he won’t let you have it — not yet.

Carlos leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You don’t get to come until I say so,” he commands, his voice low, dangerous. “No matter how badly you want it. Understand?”

You whimper, your body trembling as you try to process his words, but the pleasure is overwhelming, consuming, and you’re not sure you can hold back. “Carlos … please …”

He tightens his grip on your thigh, his fingers still working you with relentless precision. “Do you understand?” He repeats, his voice sharp, cutting through the haze of your desire.

“Yes,” you gasp, the word slipping out before you can stop it. “Yes, I understand.”

“Good,” he says, and there’s a dark satisfaction in his voice, a thrill that sends another shiver down your spine. “Now be a good girl and take what I give you.”

His fingers delve deeper, and you’re helpless against the onslaught of sensation, your mind blanking out everything except the feel of him, the way he’s playing your body like a finely tuned instrument. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t reach that peak, can’t tip over the edge without his permission.

It’s maddening, frustrating in a way that leaves you teetering on the brink of insanity, and you can feel tears of desperation welling up in your eyes as you claw at him, begging for something you know he won’t give you.

“Please,” you sob, your voice raw, broken. “Please, Carlos … I need it …”

Carlos’ wicked smile lingers as he draws out your agony, savoring every moment of your desperate pleas. His fingers continue their relentless assault, pushing you closer and closer to the brink, but never allowing you the release you so desperately crave. It’s a torturous game, one that he’s mastered, and you’re helpless under his control.

Your breaths come in ragged gasps, and tears blur your vision as you claw at his back, your nails digging into his skin. “Carlos, please,” you beg, your voice breaking. “I’ll do anything … please …”

His eyes darken, the satisfaction in them almost predatory as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “Anything?” He murmurs, his voice a seductive whisper that sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod frantically, your mind too clouded by desire to even consider the implications of what you’re agreeing to. “Yes, anything,” you gasp, your voice trembling with desperation. “Just … please …”

Carlos’ lips curve into a slow, dangerous smile as he shifts his hand slightly, changing the angle of his fingers, and you nearly scream at the overwhelming sensation. But just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, he stops, his hand stilling completely.

“No!” The word tears from your throat in a ragged sob, and you feel the tears spill over, trailing down your cheeks as you shake your head in disbelief. “Carlos, please, don’t …”

He captures your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look up at him. His expression is intense, his gaze locking onto yours with a force that steals your breath. “Listen to me, mi amor,” he says, his voice low, commanding. “I need you to understand something.”

You try to nod, but his grip on your chin keeps you still, his hold unyielding as he continues. “You are mine,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You belong to me, body and soul. And as your maker, it is my responsibility to protect you, to keep you safe.”

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat as you feel the weight of his words, the gravity of the bond between you. It’s not just about possession, about control — it’s about something deeper, something primal that connects you in a way that goes beyond anything you’ve ever known.

“And you will never put yourself at risk again,” Carlos continues, his voice growing darker, more dangerous with each word. “Do you understand? You will never do anything that could endanger you, or anything that you know I would disapprove of.”

Your heart races as his words sink in, the power of his command wrapping around you like a vice, squeezing until it’s all you can think about, all you can feel. There’s no choice here, no room for defiance or rebellion — his will is absolute, and you are powerless against it.

“Yes, Carlos,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as you nod slowly. “I understand.”

His eyes search yours, as if looking for any hint of doubt, any sign that you might disobey him. But you’ve never been more certain of anything in your life. The thought of going against him, of putting yourself in danger again, is unthinkable, not just because of the consequences, but because you know how much it would hurt him.

Carlos seems satisfied with your answer, his expression softening slightly as he releases your chin. “Good,” he says, his voice low, but no less commanding. “I don’t ever want to have this conversation again.”

You shake your head quickly, your heart pounding in your chest as you press yourself closer to him. “We won’t,” you promise, your voice trembling with sincerity. “I swear, Carlos. I’ll be careful. I won’t … I won’t make you worry again.”

For a moment, he simply stares at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. Then, without warning, he crushes his lips against yours, kissing you with a ferocity that leaves you breathless, your body trembling under the force of his desire. It’s a kiss that’s both a punishment and a reward, a reminder of the power he holds over you and the depths of his need for you.

Carlos’ hands are everywhere, his touch rough, possessive, as he pulls you even closer, his body pressing against yours until there’s no space left between you. You can feel his control slipping, the leash he’s kept on himself fraying with each passing second, and it only heightens your own need, your own desperate desire to be consumed by him.

He pulls back slightly, his lips trailing down your neck, and you shiver as his breath ghosts over your skin. “You drive me crazy,” he murmurs against your throat, his voice low, a growl that sends a thrill of anticipation through you. “Do you know that? You push me to the edge, and I can’t help but want to take you there with me.”

Your breath hitches as you feel his fangs scrape against your skin, a light, teasing touch that makes you whimper in anticipation. “Carlos …”

His name is a plea, a prayer, and you feel his lips curve into a smile against your neck. “Tell me what you want, amor,” he whispers, his voice dark and seductive. “Beg me for it.”

Your heart races, your body trembling as you clutch at him, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please,” you gasp, your voice desperate, pleading. “Please, Carlos … I need it. I need you.”

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s both cruel and comforting, and you feel his hand slide down to grip your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist. “I want to hear you say it,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the spot where your pulse races just beneath the surface. “Beg me to bite you.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you know he’s testing you, pushing you to the edge of your endurance. But you’re too far gone to care, too desperate for his touch, his bite, to even think about pride or resistance.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice trembling as you tilt your head back, offering him your throat. “Please, Carlos … bite me. I need it. I need you.”

Carlos growls low in his throat, a sound that vibrates through you, igniting a fire deep in your core. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice rough with approval. “You’ve been so good for me.”

His lips brush against your skin, soft and teasing, before he sinks his fangs into your neck with a sharp, sudden bite. The pain is brief, almost sweet, as it melts into a wave of pleasure that crashes over you, stealing your breath, your thoughts, until there’s nothing left but the feel of him, the way he consumes you.

Your vision blurs as the sensation overwhelms you, your body trembling uncontrollably in his arms. You can feel the pull of his fangs, the way he draws your blood with each slow, deliberate suck, and it’s intoxicating, a pleasure so intense it borders on pain.

But even as you feel yourself slipping away, lost in the ecstasy of his bite, Carlos is there, grounding you, his hands strong and sure as they hold you close. You can hear his voice, a low, soothing murmur in your ear, though you can’t make out the words — just the sound of it, the way it wraps around you, comforting you even as he drains you.

And then, just as you think you can’t take any more, just as you feel yourself beginning to fade, Carlos pulls back, his fangs slipping from your neck as he licks the wound closed with a tenderness that belies the intensity of his actions.

You’re left gasping, your body trembling with aftershocks, and you can barely hold yourself up as you cling to him, your mind a haze of pleasure and exhaustion. But Carlos isn’t done with you yet. He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed and laying you down with a gentleness that makes your heart ache.

He hovers over you, his eyes dark and unreadable as he studies your face, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “You’re mine,” he says softly, his voice full of possessiveness, but also something deeper, something that makes your chest tighten with emotion. “Always.”

You can only nod, your voice lost in the whirlwind of sensations that still linger in your body. But you don’t need words — he can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way you cling to him, the way your body responds to his every touch.

Carlos leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s achingly tender, a stark contrast to the roughness of his earlier actions. It’s a kiss that seals a promise, a bond that goes beyond the physical, beyond the blood you’ve shared.

But even as he pulls away, his eyes darken with something else, something that makes your pulse quicken with anticipation. “I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous purr that sends a thrill of excitement through you. “You still haven’t earned your release, querida.”

Your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat as his words sink in. You’re still trembling, still reeling from the pleasure of his bite, but you know better than to think he’s going to let you off easy. Carlos is nothing if not thorough, and when he promises to punish you, he always follows through.

Carlos’ words hang in the air, a tantalizing promise that leaves you trembling with anticipation. His body is a solid weight against yours, pinning you to the bed, and every touch, every brush of his skin against yours sends shockwaves of desire through you.

Yet, there’s a new tension in the room now, something more than just the heady mix of pain and pleasure. It’s the awareness that this is a punishment — a lesson, a reminder of the power he holds over you. But even as you dread the torment he might inflict, a part of you craves it, revels in the way he takes control.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Carlos’ voice is a low growl, rich with authority, and you can feel the rumble of it in his chest against yours. His hand trails down your side, a teasing touch that makes you shiver. “About how you’re not allowed to tip over the edge until I say so?”

You swallow hard, your throat dry, and nod slowly. “Yes,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of your need. “I remember.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his lips curving into a dangerous smile as he watches your reaction. “Because I’m not finished with you yet. Not even close.”

With deliberate slowness, he shifts his body, moving down your length, and the absence of his weight leaves you feeling exposed, vulnerable. His hands glide over your skin, tracing patterns that make you gasp, his touch both soothing and electrifying. You try to lift your hips, desperate for some kind of friction, but Carlos’ hands are there, holding you down with a gentle but firm pressure.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts softly, shaking his head. “No moving. You’re going to lie there and take what I give you, understand?”

Your breath catches at the command in his voice, and you bite your lip, nodding. “Yes, Carlos,” you murmur, your voice barely audible.

His eyes darken with approval, and you can feel the heat of his gaze as it roams over your body, taking in every inch of you. “That’s my girl,” he purrs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “So obedient … so eager to please.”

Carlos’ hands slide lower, over the curve of your hips, the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and you shudder as his fingers brush against the place where you ache for him the most. But just as quickly, he pulls back, leaving you teetering on the edge of frustration.

You let out a small, involuntary whimper, your body trembling with need, and Carlos’ eyes flash with something dark and primal. “Patience, mi amor,” he whispers, his voice a soothing caress. “You’ll get what you want … but only when I’m ready to give it to you.”

The anticipation is excruciating, each passing second a slow torture as Carlos continues to explore your body with languid, deliberate movements. Every brush of his fingers, every kiss he places on your skin, is designed to drive you mad with desire, to push you closer and closer to the edge without ever letting you fall over.

“Carlos,” you gasp, your voice trembling as you reach for him, needing to feel him, to touch him. “Please …”

But he catches your wrists in his hands, pinning them above your head as he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re not in charge here,” he murmurs, his voice dark with intent. “I am. You’ll come when I say you can, and not a second before.”

The power in his words sends a thrill through you, even as you struggle against the restraints he’s placed on you. There’s something intoxicating about surrendering completely to him, about giving up control and letting him take the lead. And as much as it frustrates you, you can’t deny the way your body responds to his dominance, to the way he commands you with just a word, a touch.

Carlos releases your wrists, but the weight of his command keeps you in place, your arms trembling as you resist the urge to reach for him again. He moves lower, his lips trailing down your stomach, and you can’t help the way your muscles twitch under his touch, every nerve ending alive with sensation.

He pauses just above your core, his breath ghosting over your skin, and your hips lift instinctively, seeking contact, but he pulls back again, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “So impatient,” he murmurs, his voice laced with amusement. “But I suppose I can’t blame you … after all, I’ve kept you waiting for so long.”

Your breath hitches as he finally dips his head, his mouth descending on you with a deliberate slowness that makes you gasp. The first touch of his tongue is a shock of pleasure that sends a jolt through your body, and you arch off the bed, a cry tearing from your throat.

Carlos hums in approval, his grip on your thighs tightening as he holds you in place, his tongue working you with a skill that leaves you breathless. He’s relentless, his movements precise, calculated to push you closer and closer to the edge without ever letting you tip over.

You’re a mess of gasps and moans, your hands clutching at the sheets as you writhe under his touch, your body straining for release that remains just out of reach. The tension coils tighter and tighter, until you feel like you might shatter from the pressure.

“Carlos … please …” The words are a broken plea, a desperate cry for mercy, and you can hear the raw need in your own voice.

But Carlos is unmoved, his pace steady, unyielding as he pushes you further, dragging out your torment until you’re trembling with the effort of holding back. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and there’s a fire in them, a hunger that takes your breath away.

“Do you want to come, querida?” He asks, his voice a low, seductive growl that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice shaking with desperation. “Please, Carlos … I need to …”

“Then beg for it,” he commands, his gaze locked on yours. “Beg me to let you come.”

The words send a thrill of anticipation through you, and you can feel your resolve crumbling, your pride slipping away in the face of your overwhelming need. “Please, Carlos,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Please … let me come. I can’t … I can’t take it anymore …”

Carlos’ lips curve into a satisfied smile, and he rewards your submission with a quick flick of his tongue that makes you cry out, your body arching off the bed. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with approval. “You’ve been so good for me … I think you’ve earned it.”

His words are your undoing, the permission you’ve been craving, and as soon as they leave his lips, you feel the tension snap, the release crashing over you in a wave of pleasure so intense it leaves you gasping for breath. Your vision blurs, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm as Carlos continues to work you through it, his hands and mouth relentless as he draws out every last drop of pleasure.

It’s too much, too overwhelming, and you find yourself sobbing with the intensity of it, tears streaming down your cheeks as you cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders. But Carlos is there, grounding you, his touch soothing as he eases you back down, his lips trailing soft kisses along your skin.

When the last of the tremors finally subside, you collapse against the bed, utterly spent, your body trembling with aftershocks. Carlos lifts his head, his eyes dark and intense as he watches you, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

“You did so well, mi amor,” he murmurs, his voice soft with affection as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “I’m so proud of you.”

You can’t find the words to respond, your voice lost in the haze of pleasure and exhaustion that lingers in your body. But you don’t need to say anything — Carlos can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way you relax into his touch.

He shifts, moving to lie beside you, and you immediately curl into him, seeking the warmth of his embrace. Carlos wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, and you bury your face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent.

For a long moment, there’s only silence, the two of you lying together in the aftermath of your shared pleasure. But even as your body begins to calm, your mind is racing, replaying the events of the night, the way Carlos took control, the way he commanded you.

It’s a heady feeling, knowing that you belong to him, that he holds this power over you. But it’s also comforting, a reminder that you’re safe, protected, that Carlos will always be there to guide you, to take care of you.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can think to stop them.

Carlos stiffens slightly, and you feel a pang of uncertainty, wondering if you’ve said the wrong thing. But then he’s tilting your chin up, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I love you too,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “More than anything.”

The sincerity in his voice, the raw honesty of his words, takes your breath away, and you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Carlos …”

He cuts you off with a kiss, his lips soft and tender against yours, and you can feel the depth of his feelings in that simple touch. It's a kiss that seals a promise, one that transcends words, binding the two of you together in a way that’s eternal, unbreakable.

When he finally pulls back, there’s a look in his eyes that speaks volumes — a silent vow that no matter what comes, you’ll face it together. “Forever,” he murmurs, his voice a gentle caress, and you know he means it in every sense.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips as you rest your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a sense of peace. “Forever,” you echo, feeling the word settle into your very soul.

In his arms, you feel complete, whole in a way you never imagined possible. And as the night wraps around you like a blanket, you let yourself drift, knowing that with Carlos by your side, eternity doesn’t seem nearly long enough.

[soulofapatrick]

“Patience, love.” - Azriel x female reader

Summary: Azriel gets home from being away and has even more work to do before he can tend to you

Words: 3.2K

Warnings: Smut; cockwarming

Notes: Two Azriel stories in one day?!

Y/N's POV

I sit with Nesta and Cassian in the cozy living room of the House of Wind, the warm glow of the fire crackling in the hearth casting flickering shadows along the walls. Nesta’s sharp wit and Cassian’s booming laughter fill the space, their playful banter about training sessions and Illyrian wingspans enough to keep me entertained—for the most part.

But even as I smile along with them, my mind is elsewhere, thoughts drifting to him. To Azriel. It’s been days since I’ve seen him, his absence leaving a hollow ache in my chest. I’m just about to add something to Nesta’s argument when I feel it—soft at first, like the brush of a feather. Then, stronger. A pull. A familiar, soul-deep tug on the bond that links me to him, wrapping itself around my heart with a tender, insistent pulse. Azriel.

I sit up a little straighter, the change in me instantaneous. It's like a jolt of life surges through me, a spark that had been dulled in his absence now reigniting with full force. My heart skips a beat, joy swelling so suddenly inside me that I can’t stop the bright, eager smile that stretches across my face. The world seems to sharpen, colours brighter, sounds clearer, as if everything in the room has come into focus with that single, unmistakable tug. He’s home.

Cassian’s eyes catch mine, the knowing look in them unmistakable. He’s seen this before. I don’t even need to say it—he knows. He leans back, crossing his arms with a teasing smirk as if to say, Go on, then. Nesta pauses mid-sentence, her expression confused as she glances between us.

I can barely sit still, the urge to move, to find him, overwhelming. “I—” I stammer, already rising from my seat. “I need to go.” My voice is breathless, and I can feel the flush rising in my cheeks, the warmth of excitement spreading through my entire body.

Nesta arches a brow, clearly about to ask why I’m leaving so suddenly, but I’m too far gone, my mind entirely focused on the one person I need to see. “Sorry!” I call over my shoulder as I dash from the room, leaving the half-finished conversation behind. I can feel Nesta’s confusion lingering in the air, but it doesn’t matter—not when he’s home.

My feet pound against the floor as I rush down the hall, my heart thudding in sync with the bond’s steady pull. The corridors of the House blur around me as I pick up my pace, the excitement bubbling inside me, spilling over. Every step brings me closer to him—closer to Azriel.

I can almost feel his presence now, that comforting, grounding sensation that only he brings, and a desperate need blooms in my chest. I need to see him, feel his arms around me, the cool touch of his shadows curling around my skin. I can barely breathe with how badly I want him right now.

Rounding the corner, I nearly skid to a halt in front of our door, my breath coming fast, my fingers trembling as they close around the handle. Azriel’s home—the thought pounds through my veins, dizzying me with anticipation, and I push the door open, stepping into the room where I know he waits.

As I step into the room, my breath catches in my throat at the sight of him. Azriel is seated at his desk, the soft glow of the lamp casting warm light over the planes of his face, making him look almost ethereal. He looks up as the door clicks shut behind me, and the second our eyes meet, a soft smile tugs at his lips—those rare dimples appearing, the ones that never fail to send my heart racing.

His hazel eyes, a swirl of green and gold, brighten at the sight of me, that unreadable mask he so often wears slipping just enough for me to see the affection there. His dark hair, tousled from the day, falls slightly into his face, and he brushes it aside with a scarred hand. The elegant planes of his face are impossibly beautiful, his golden-brown skin glowing in the dim light. Broad shoulders and powerful muscles, shaped by centuries of Illyrian training, are framed by his massive wings, their black membranes stretching behind him. He looks like a warrior, a king—yet, in this moment, he is simply mine.

Azriel shuffles his chair back without a word, the soft sound of the wood scraping the floor echoing in the silence between us. His eyes never leave mine, and with that same gentle smile, he opens his arms slightly in invitation. It’s all I need. I cross the room in a few quick strides, my body practically vibrating with the need to feel him, to touch him after so many days apart.

Without hesitation, I straddle his lap, feeling his strong thighs beneath me, his scarred hands immediately gripping my hips to steady me as I settle against him. I giggle, breathless, and his smile widens, a soft laugh escaping his lips—a sound I rarely hear, but one that fills me with warmth. His fingers dig into my hips just enough to keep me from falling off the chair, and I feel the tension drain from my body the moment his warmth seeps into me.

"Careful," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, his breath fanning across my skin. And then, he pulls me closer, drawing me into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around me as if he never wants to let go. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, breathing me in, his nose brushing against my skin as his wings curl slightly inward, forming a protective cocoon around us.

I melt into him, my hands sliding up his strong shoulders and into his hair as I cling to him. For a moment, we stay like this—wrapped in each other, feeling the bond between us hum with contentment, with home. But then, his lips move against my neck, the faintest brush of his mouth against my skin, and my breath hitches. Slowly, he lifts his head, his eyes darkened with something deeper now, and before I can say a word, he kisses me.

The moment our lips meet, everything else fades away. His kiss is soft at first, gentle, like he’s savouring the taste of me after being apart for so long. I can taste the faint hint of mint on his lips, feel the warmth of him seeping into me, the smooth press of his lips against mine as they move slowly, sweetly. His hands slide up my back, pulling me impossibly closer, and I can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath my chest, grounding me in this moment.

But the kiss shifts. Slowly at first, then with a growing urgency. The bond between us tightens, a sharp pull, and suddenly, I’m not just kissing him—I’m devouring him. I grip his hair tighter, my nails scraping lightly against his scalp as I deepen the kiss, feeling his responding growl vibrate through my chest. Azriel’s hands tighten their grip on my hips, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the heat of him, the strength of his body beneath me. My heart races, and all the want and need I’ve been holding back during his absence surges forward in a tidal wave of longing.

His tongue brushes against mine, and the taste of him—so familiar, so intoxicating—makes me dizzy. The kiss becomes desperate, consuming, the bond between us sparking like wildfire, reigniting that primal pull I feel whenever I’m near him. I need him now. The warmth in my chest turns into a burning ache, and my hands slip down to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as I press myself even closer, as though I can’t get enough of him.

He growls softly against my lips, his wings flaring behind him as the bond crackles between us, both of us teetering on the edge of control. Azriel breaks the kiss just long enough to meet my gaze, his hazel eyes now dark with desire. His voice is rough when he speaks, barely a whisper. “I missed you.”

Before I can respond, his lips crash into mine again, harder this time, the kiss filled with all the pent-up need, the longing, the hunger. The bond pulses, wild and insistent, and I can feel the desire coil low in my belly, a deep, aching need that only he can fill. I need him now—no, I need him now, the mating bond pulling us both into a frenzy of want, of overwhelming, all-consuming need.

Without a word, one hand finds my panties, fingers finding their way to my already wet core, a proud smirk gracing that beautiful face, “All for me?” 

I’m nodding almost so hard I’m sure I’ll get whiplash, an ache deep inside of me needing Azriel now.  My hips jerk down, trying to get him to sleep one into my aching heat but he clicks his tongue softly, his scarred fingers exploring, tracing a line from my extract up to my clit, spreading my ever-growing arousal. He moves a hand up to my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze when he draws a tight circle over my clit, watching the way my breath catching in my throat and my brain seems to turn to mush. 

Azriel. Need. Need now. Azriel. Az-

Before I can finish the thought, his voice cuts through the haze of desire clouding my mind, sharp and teasing, yet so achingly calm. “Now now, I still have work to do before we can play.”

His words snap like a whip, jerking me out of the intoxicating fog of want, and I freeze, the fire in my veins suddenly roaring hotter, fiercer. I pull back just enough to meet his eyes, my breath ragged and shallow, my pulse thundering in my ears. He’s smiling—smirking—as if he doesn’t feel the same sharp, clawing need that’s twisting inside me.

I can feel the heat pooling low in my belly, my skin buzzing, a desperate ache between my thighs that makes it hard to think, hard to breathe. The bond pulses violently with my desire, a tidal wave of need that crashes into him, and I know—I know—he can feel it. The raw hunger, the gnawing need to be closer, to tear down the walls of restraint he’s so carefully built between us. But his words hang in the air, like cold water dousing the inferno inside me.

I bare my teeth, frustration bubbling over as a low growl rumbles from my chest. Anguish grips me, a burning, agonising frustration that has me trembling in his lap. I can’t stand it—the thought of being denied him, even for a moment longer. My hands tighten their grip on his shoulders, fingers digging into the hard muscle beneath his shirt as I press myself closer, my body desperate for the touch of his skin, the feel of him inside me.

“Azriel,” I hiss, the plea tangled with raw need, my voice almost unrecognisable. “I can’t—” I can’t finish the sentence, too overwhelmed, too consumed by the sharp, aching pull of the bond, the primal need coursing through me like a live wire. My entire body is screaming for him, and the restraint he’s showing, the patience in his voice, only fans the flames of my frustration.

But he just chuckles. That low, rumbling sound of amusement spilling from his lips, as if my need, my desperation, is nothing more than a game to him. It ignites something in me, the flicker of anger sharpening my need into something almost unbearable. His eyes—those beautiful hazel eyes, darkened with lust—gleam with equal want, with the same hunger I feel. But beneath it, there’s control. A maddening, ironclad self-restraint that makes his jaw click as he holds back

His hands go back to my hips, resting firmly on them, his grip tightening just enough that I can feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the barely-contained desire pulsing through him. His wings twitch behind him, his body taut with the effort to hold himself in check. I can see it—the way his eyes darken with every breath I take, the way his gaze drops to my lips, lingering there as though he’s seconds away from devouring me.

He wants this. He wants me, just as badly, just as fiercely—but he’s holding back, holding himself at bay with that damnable, infuriating control. His teeth grind together, his jaw clenching as he restrains the need that’s clearly mirrored in my own. The way his hands tighten on my hips, the way his wings flex—it all tells me he’s fighting against the same pull, the same hunger.

“Azriel,” I growl again, my voice rough and edged with desperation. I lean in, pressing my lips to his ear, my breath hot against his skin. “You’re killing me.”

He chuckles again, but it’s strained now, his control wavering for just a heartbeat. His voice is rougher this time, the tension evident as he murmurs, “Patience, love.”

But patience is the last thing I have. I can feel the bond vibrating between us, the wild, untamed magic of it pulling us both into the whirlwind of lust and need. It’s a cruel thing, to feel the burning want in every fibre of my being and know he’s holding himself back from giving in, from letting go. And it’s driving me mad.

His eyes flicker with something dark and dangerous as he watches the frustration in my gaze, the primal need that has me trembling in his lap. His jaw ticks again, that battle for control raging within him, and I can see it—the moment he almost breaks, the moment the restraint frays and the want claws its way to the surface.

And gods, I want him to break. 

“Stand up.” He suddenly demands and I find myself doing so, watching, practically drooling as he sheds some of his armour. My thighs clenching together as his hands move to his belt, unbuckling it, fingers pulling the zipper of his pants down and I’m swallowing hard at the tent. 

How big he is never fails to make me worry that he won’t fit me despite us being made for each other. Azriel’s glancing up at me as he frees himself, stroking a hand up and down his weeping length and I can’t decide what I want in me more. Those deft fingers or his throbbing dick, both making me almost fall to my knees in front of him from wanting something. Anything.

“Sit.” Azriel’s voice is choked and rough as he reaches forwards and grips my hips, helping me straddle his waist again. My thighs feel shaky already as he lines himself up for me to sink down easily, our bodies molding to each others like they had never been apart before.I go to raise myself up, desperate to move, to ease the overwhelming tension pulsing through my body, but Azriel’s low, deep growl reverberates through his chest, rumbling against my skin. His scarred hands tighten their grip on my hips, stilling me with a firm, unyielding hold. “Patience, love,” he murmurs, his voice a silken warning, his restraint absolute.

“Az—” I begin, but his name falls short, caught in my throat, the word turning into a helpless sigh.

Oh, angel. This man is going to be the fucking death of me.

I know I make a muffled sound of anguish, my lips pressing against his shoulder, my body trembling from how close I am to what I so desperately need. But he won’t let me move. He won’t. Despite being buried inside me, to the absolute hilt, filling me fuller than I ever thought possible, he keeps me still, locked in place, holding back the release we both crave.

My nails dig into the hard muscles of his shoulders, almost painfully, as I fight the primal instinct to rock my hips, to seek that friction I so desperately need. But Azriel—damn him—keeps me pinned against him, his grip firm, unyielding. Every muscle in my body is taut with the tension of it, the ache between my legs a sharp, throbbing pulse that borders on torture.

I burrow my face into the crook of his neck, desperate for some form of release, and without thinking, I bite down on the soft skin there—almost too hard. His breath hitches, sharp and sudden, his body going rigid beneath me for a moment, and I feel a dark sense of satisfaction knowing I got a reaction out of him. His jaw clenches, the want flaring hot in his eyes, but he doesn’t give in.

Instead, his hand leaves my hip, moving slowly, deliberately, to card through my hair. His fingers tangle in the strands, a soft, rhythmic motion that sends an unexpected wave of calm washing over me. I hadn’t realised how badly I needed that gentle touch in the midst of all this aching, burning need. His thumb brushes the side of my temple, and despite the insistent pulse between my thighs, the raw desire clawing at my every nerve, I feel a strange, soothing warmth spread through me.

His hand strokes through my hair again, and again. It’s maddening, the way he can have me teetering on the edge of ecstasy and still manage to lull me into this state of almost… blissful surrender. As if his touch alone could make me forget the ache in my body, the way he’s buried so deep inside me yet keeping me utterly still, trapped in this agonising limbo.

I bite him again, though softer this time, trying to fight the pull of drowsiness creeping up on me. But Azriel’s hand continues to pet my hair, his voice a low murmur of comfort I can barely make out over the sound of my own ragged breaths. Somehow, impossibly, the gentle motion is lulling me, sending me into a state of slumber despite the sharp ache between my legs, the unfulfilled need twisting deep inside me.

I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to drift away. But I can feel my body surrendering, my eyelids growing heavier with every soft stroke of his fingers. It’s as if my exhaustion is finally catching up with me, and though the desperation still burns hot in my veins, I know he won’t leave me like this for long.

Azriel’s hand stills for a moment, his lips brushing against the crown of my head as he whispers, “Rest, love. I’ll wake you when I’m ready.”

When he’s ready. The thought should frustrate me, should make me want to push away, to demand more—but there’s something in the way he says it. A promise. And I know—I know—that when he’s ready, he’ll give me everything. Everything we both need.

So I let myself drift, trusting him to wake me when the time comes, trusting him to fulfill that promise. The ache is still there, pulsing between my thighs, but for now… for now, I let the exhaustion win.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

[misswynters]

Winter’s Embrace — Chapter Two

Cregan Stark x targaryen!fem!reader

[warning: suggestive, cregan pinning the reader to the bed

[synopsis: You spend time with your husband, cregan. There’s a big snow storm happening outside, and you get caught in the middle.

[word count: 3.0k

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

previous chapter | next chapter

Winterfell had never seemed so bleak. The walls, which were normally a sanctuary, felt like a prison with the storm raging outside. Snow fell like thick sheets, obscuring everything beyond the castle's stone walls. The wind howled like a wild beast, its icy breath seeping through every crack and crevice, chilling you to the bone.

Cregan Stark, the Warden of the North, stood by a window, his silhouette stark against the swirling snow outside. His presence was as commanding as ever, even with the tempest raging behind him. His grey eyes, the color of storm clouds, were fixed on the blizzard, a deep frown etched into his features.

"It's worse than I expected," he said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to resonate through the very walls of Winterfell. "We might be stuck here for days."

You pulled your cloak tighter around yourself, feeling the cold despite the fire. "At least we're safe inside," you replied, stepping closer to the hearth. The warmth was a welcome reprieve from the chill that seemed to permeate everything.

Cregan turned to face you, his gaze softening as it settled on your form. "Are you alright? You seem... uneasy."

You met his eyes, feeling a jolt of something you couldn't quite name. There was a strength in his gaze, a reassurance that made you feel safer despite the storm. "I'm just not used to storms like this," you admitted. "It's... overwhelming."

He moved closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. The contact was electric, sending warmth coursing through you. "Winterfell can be a harsh place," he said softly. "But you're not alone."

The intimacy of the moment caught you off guard. You had always admired Cregan from afar, his strength and stoic nature a constant presence in the Stark household. But now, with the storm raging outside and the world reduced to the confines of Winterfell, you found yourself drawn to him in a way you hadn't anticipated.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackling fire.

Cregan's hand lingered on your arm for a moment longer before he stepped back, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. "Come, let's check on the supplies. We need to make sure everyone is taken care of."

You followed him through the dimly lit halls of Winterfell, the flickering torchlight casting long shadows on the stone walls. The storm outside seemed distant now, the only sounds the echo of your footsteps and the occasional gust of wind rattling the windows.

As you worked together, checking the stores of food and ensuring the fires in the various hearths were well-fed, you found yourself stealing glances at Cregan. There was a gentleness to him you hadn't seen before, a side that he rarely showed to others. And in those moments, you felt a connection growing, a bond forged in the midst of the storm.

By the time you returned to the Great Hall, the storm had intensified, the wind howling like a wild beast. Cregan stoked the fire, adding another log to the flames, and you both settled down in front of the hearth, the warmth a welcome contrast to the cold outside.

"It's almost beautiful, in a way," you mused, staring into the dancing flames.

Cregan nodded, his gaze fixed on the fire. "Aye, there's a certain beauty to it. But it's also dangerous. We have to respect its power."

You turned to him, finding his eyes already on you. The intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat. "Cregan, I..."

He leaned closer, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek. "Shh," he murmured. "No need for words."

The kiss that followed was like nothing you had ever experienced. It was tender and passionate, a release of all the emotions that had been building between you. The storm outside raged on, but in that moment, all you could feel was the warmth of his embrace, the taste of his lips, and the beating of his heart against yours. The fire crackled and popped, casting a warm, golden glow that danced across the stone walls. You and Cregan remained by the hearth, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and intimacy.

Cregan's hand traced a path down your arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "I've wanted to do that for a long time," he admitted, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine.

You looked up at him, your breath hitching at the intensity of his gaze. "So have I," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I didn't think you felt the same."

His lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. "I've always felt it. I just... thought you didn’t like being betrothed to me."

You reached up, your fingers lightly brushing his cheek. "No…i was just scared. Everything here is new to me."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. When he opened them again, there was a fire in his gaze that matched the one burning in the hearth. "Come with me," he said, his voice husky with emotion.

You nodded, allowing him to take your hand and lead you through the dimly lit halls of Winterfell. The storm outside was a constant reminder of the world beyond, but here, within these ancient walls, you felt safe and cherished.

Cregan led you to his chambers, a place you had only ever seen in passing. The room was warm, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. It was a reflection of its owner—strong, steadfast, and filled with a quiet intensity.

He closed the door behind you, the sound echoing in the quiet room. For a moment, you both stood there, the silence filled with unspoken words and a palpable tension. Then, Cregan stepped forward, his hands gently cradling your face as he kissed you again, this time with a hunger that took your breath away.

You melted into his embrace, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The kiss deepened, a fire igniting between you that rivaled the one in the hearth.

The dim light of the hearth cast a warm, flickering glow across the stone walls of Cregan Stark's chambers. The winter chill was kept at bay by the roaring fire, but inside, a different kind of heat was building. Cregan's piercing eyes locked onto yours, and without a word, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss.

His hands found your waist, strong and sure, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, your fingers threading through his dark hair, tugging slightly as you tried to bring him even closer. His breath was hot against your lips, mingling with yours in a shared rhythm of desire and need.

Cregan's hands began to roam, exploring the curve of your waist and the small of your back. He lifted you effortlessly, guiding you towards the bed, never breaking the kiss. You could feel the strength in his arms, the controlled power that always made you feel safe and desired.

As your back met the soft mattress, Cregan's body pressed against yours, his weight a comforting presence. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down with you, desperate to keep him close. His lips left yours, trailing a line of fire down your jaw to the sensitive skin of your neck.

You arched beneath him, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his teeth grazed your skin, followed by the soothing touch of his tongue. He was relentless, each kiss, each touch, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, urging him on.

Cregan's kisses grew more fervent, his mouth exploring the hollow of your throat, the curve of your collarbone. His hands moved with purpose, one sliding up to cup your face while the other held your hip, anchoring you to the bed. His body pressed you further into the mattress, and you welcomed the weight, the feeling of being completely enveloped by him.

He paused for a moment, lifting his head to look at you. His eyes were dark with desire, a smoldering intensity that made your heart race. "You are mine," he murmured, his voice husky and low. The possessiveness in his tone sent a thrill through you, and you nodded, your breath coming in shallow pants.

"Hmm…I am yours" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the crackling fire. The words seemed to ignite something in him, and he captured your lips once more in a kiss that was both fierce and tender.

His hands began to roam again, tracing the contours of your body, memorizing every curve and dip. He kissed his way down your neck, his lips and tongue working in tandem to drive you wild.

Each touch was electrifying, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Your hands found their way under his tunic, exploring the hard planes of his back, feeling the muscles bunch and flex under your touch. He groaned into your neck, the sound vibrating through you, adding to the heady mix of sensations.

Cregan's kisses grew more insistent, his teeth scraping lightly against your skin, followed by the soothing caress of his tongue. He knew exactly how to drive you to the edge, and he was relentless in his pursuit. You were lost in him, in the feel of his lips, his hands, his body. With a growl of need, he claimed your mouth once more, his kiss demanding and consuming. You gave yourself over to him completely, reveling in the intensity of his passion, the depth of his desire. As he pressed you further into the mattress, you could feel him getting hard. You knew that this night would be one you would never forget, a night where he showed you just how much he loved you.

⠀⊹  ˑ  ִ  ֗   ִ  ۫   ˑ

The next morning, the storm still showed no signs of abating. Snow piled high against the windows, and the wind continued to howl like a restless spirit. But the fire in Cregan's chambers kept the cold at bay, and the warmth of his embrace made you feel invincible.

You woke to find Cregan watching you, his grey eyes soft and filled with something you couldn't quite name. "Good morning," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

"Good morning," you replied, smiling up at him. "Did you sleep well?"

He nodded, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Better than I have in a long time," he admitted. "With you here... it feels right."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached up to cup his cheek. "It does," you agreed, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "I feel the same way."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. "I'm glad," he murmured. "Because I don't want this to be a one-time thing. I want... more."

You could hear the vulnerability in his voice, and it made you love him all the more. "So do I," you said softly. "I want to be with you, Cregan. Not just for now, but for always."

His eyes opened, a spark of hope and determination in their depths. "Then that's what we'll do," he said firmly. "We'll make this work. No matter what."

Hours passed by and what followed were a blur of snow and cold, but the warmth between you and Cregan never wavered.

Later that evening, as you sat together by the fire, Cregan took your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "I want to show you something," he said, his voice filled with a quiet intensity.

You looked at him curiously. "What is it?"

He stood, pulling you to your feet and leading you through the halls of Winterfell. The castle was quiet, the only sound the soft crunch of your footsteps on the stone floor.

He led you to a secluded part of the castle, a place you had never been before. It was a small garden, sheltered from the worst of the storm by high walls and ancient trees. The snow lay thick on the ground, sparkling in the moonlight.

Cregan turned to you, his eyes reflecting the light of the moon and stars. "This place... it's special to me," he said softly. "It's where I come to think, to find peace."

You looked around, taking in the serene beauty of the garden. "It's beautiful," you said, your breath misting in the cold air. "Thank you for showing me."

He smiled, his hand tightening around yours. "I wanted you to see it," he said. "Because you're special to me too. More than anyone or anything."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you stepped closer, your free hand resting on his chest. "And you mean everything to me, Cregan," you said, your voice filled with emotion. "I love you."

His eyes softened, and he leaned down to kiss you, a slow, tender kiss that spoke of all the love and devotion he felt for you. "I love you too," he murmured against your lips. "More than I can ever say."

You stayed in the garden for a while, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside forgotten. The storm had brought you together, and now, as the snow gently fell around you, you knew that nothing could ever tear you apart.

⠀⊹  ˑ  ִ  ֗   ִ  ۫   ˑ

That night, as the snowstorm outside intensified, you found yourself alone in the library, seeking solace among the ancient tomes. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. You had just settled into a chair with a book when the door creaked open.

Cregan Stark stepped inside, his presence filling the room. He looked surprised to see you there but quickly masked it with his usual stoicism.

“My dear,” he greeted, his voice softer than usual. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

You offered a small smile, trying to hide your nerves. “I find comfort in books, my lord. They offer an escape from reality when the weather gets horrible.”

He nodded, his eyes studying you intently. “Winterfell can be overwhelming, especially in the winter months. If you ever need anything to keep you warm, do not hesitate to ask.” He winked at you with a small smile.

Before you could respond, a sudden gust of wind howled through the hallways, rattling the windows and extinguishing the fire. The room plunged into darkness, save for the faint glow of the embers.

Cregan moved closer, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Stay close. The storm is worse than I thought. We need to find shelter.”

As you followed him through the dimly lit corridors, the howling wind seemed to grow louder, echoing through the stone walls. The castle felt like a labyrinth, and you struggled to keep up with Cregan’s long strides.

Just as you reached a narrow stairway, a deafening crash resonated from above. The ceiling groaned under the weight of the snow, and you felt a sense of impending danger.

Cregan turned to you, his expression grim. “We need to hurry. Follow me.”

But before you could take another step, the ground beneath you shook, and a section of the ceiling began to collapse. The last thing you saw was Cregan’s outstretched hand, reaching for you as the darkness consumed everything.

© misswynters ‘24 - don’t modify or steal my writings

tag list: @beebeechaos @benjicotblckwood

[nhlclover]

TREACHEROUS LUKE HUGHES

pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

summary: this slope is treacherous, this path is reckless. this slope is treacherous and you like it.

warnings: loosely based on 'treacherous' by taylor swift, childhood friends to lovers, heated make out, luke & reader being awkward a little bit, appearances from jack, quinn, mark, and ethan

word count: 5.06k

notes: literally the longest thing i've ever written omg but i hope you guys enjoy!!

The summer sun blazed down on the lake house, casting bright rays onto the water and the worn-down wooden dock, where you and Luke sat side by side, your fingers inches apart but never touching. The shimmering lake stretched out before you, a mirror reflecting the clear blue sky and the occasional ripple from a passing boat. It was the familiar scene of your summers, but this summer felt different — more charged, more intense.

You and Luke had always been inseparable since childhood. The backyard games, the bike races down the hill, the late-night chats under the stars—those moments had forged a bond that felt unbreakable. But beneath the surface of that easy camaraderie, there had always been something more—a secret, unspoken longing that neither of you had dared to voice. As you both grew older, the simple crushes you had harboured blossomed into something more profound, but you both chose to keep those feelings hidden, afraid of ruining the one relationship that had always been your rock.

This summer, as you and Luke reunited at the lake house, the tension between you was palpable. The familiar comfort of your shared experiences was now tinged with a new, almost unbearable intensity. Every look you exchanged seemed to linger longer than usual, every touch felt more significant. The boundary between friendship and something more had become increasingly blurred, and it was becoming harder to ignore.

One morning, as you were in the kitchen making breakfast, Luke appeared in the doorway. His presence was as familiar as the morning sun, but today, there was something different in his eyes—an earnestness that made your heart race.

“Hey, wanna go on a boat ride with me?” he asked, his voice casual but with an undertone that you couldn’t quite place.

You glanced up from your toast, meeting his gaze. “Yeah, sure,” you replied, a slight smile tugging at your lips as you finished buttering your piece of toast. “Quinn and Jack coming?”

“No, no,” he said shaking his head, a small smile tugging on his lips. “Just me ‘n you.”

The simplicity of his offer was almost too loaded to process. You could feel the heat of the sun on your skin and the way the space between you seemed to shrink. You nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation.

“Y-yeah sounds good,” you say. “Just let me finish breakfast and then I’ll go get ready.”

“Of course, take your time,” Luke said, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he turned and left the kitchen. You finished your breakfast in a daze, your mind racing with thoughts about the boat ride.

After breakfast, you quickly changed into your swimsuit, grabbing a hoodie from the pile of clothing that accumulated on the armchair in the corner of your room. You examined it quickly, realizing it was one of Luke’s Michigan hoodies that you had borrowed earlier in the week during a bonfire.

You found Luke waiting at the dock, the boat bobbing gently in the water. “Ready?” he asked, his voice steady as he helped you onto the boat.

“Yeah,” you replied, settling into one of the seats. The boat ride started out in comfortable silence, the only sounds being the hum of the engine and the lapping of water against the hull. As the boat moved further out onto the lake, Luke kept glancing at you, his eyes flicking from the water to your face as if he were trying to gauge your mood.

It wasn’t until you approached the tiny, rocky island, that you realized where Luke was taking you. It was the small island you’d found when just after Luke had gotten his boater’s licence. It had become your own little private oasis that the two of you would visit just to relax, using the privacy of the space to talk about whatever had been bothering you or whatever was on your mind.

Luke put the boat in neutral, allowing it to slowly float up to the rocky shore. He hopped out, steadying it before the bottom would scrape, then turned to you. "Hand me the anchor."

You obliged, tossing the towels to him first, then reaching for the small anchor. As you handed it over, Luke teased, “Not too heavy for you?”

You rolled your eyes behind your shades. “It’s like 13 pounds, Luke. Fuck off.”

He snorted, taking it from your hands and lodging it on a nearby rock. “Here, take my hand so you don’t fall on your face.” Luke said, extending his hand to help you down onto the shore.

You rolled your eyes at his comment, though Luke couldn’t see that behind your shades. You grabbed his hand, feeling the heat of the sun still clinging to his skin. As you hopped down, your foot slipped on the wet surface, and for a split second, you thought you were about to fall face-first into the water.

But Luke’s grip tightened, his other hand reaching out to catch you by the waist, steadying you before you could stumble any further. “Don’t worry, I got you,” he murmured, his voice soft, yet steady.

Your heart skipped a beat, and as you stood there for a moment, pressed against him, you could feel the tension thick between you. “Thanks,” you breathed out, stepping back once you found your balance, though the warmth of his hand lingered.

You moved to the towels Luke had tossed onto the sun-warmed rocks moments ago, straightening one out and lying on it, putting your arm over your eyes. Luke lingered by the boat a moment longer, watching you, his heart still pounding. He took a deep breath and sat beside you, staring out at the water, wondering how much longer he could pretend nothing had changed.

You sat in silence, the birds cawing in the air and the splashing water providing a nice background noise. Luke glanced over at your body lying just a foot away from him, your tanned skin glistening under the beating Michigan sun. Luke couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He felt dirty for staring at you like this; staring at your chest that was just barely covered by a teal bikini, rising and falling rhythmically as you breathed. Your stack of gold necklaces rested on your clavicle and Luke couldn’t fight off the thoughts about marking your collarbone with lovebites.

“I missed this,” you said suddenly, Luke snapping his head forward to focus on the water that lapped steadily against the shore.

He swallowed hard, trying to shake the heat that consumed him — not just from the sun, but from the way his mind was racing. “Missed what?”

“This,” you replied with a soft smile, lifting a hand to gesture around. “The lake, the sun, the quiet… just being here. It feels like nothing else matters for a while, you know?”

Luke let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He dared to glance over at you again, this time his eyes landing on your head — your eyes were still covered by your arm, but he had the perfect view of your plump lips, as well as the way the sunlight caught in your hair, making it shine like it was woven with gold.

Luke shifted uncomfortably, forcing his eyes to the water once again, trying to ignore the fire burning inside him. He wanted to say something — anything — to break the silence, but his mind was a mess, tangled with everything he’d been holding back for so long.

“I get that,” he finally managed, his voice quiet. “Feels like… everything else just disappears out here.”

You nodded, still lying back with your arm draped over your eyes. “Yeah, exactly. No distractions. Just us.”

The simplicity of your words hit him harder than he expected. “Just us.” Luke bit the inside of his cheek, knowing full well how dangerous those two words felt right now. He was suddenly acutely aware of how close you were — the soft rise and fall of your chest, the small space between your bodies.

You sat up, stretching your arms over your head, the movement catching Luke’s attention again. You glanced at him, your eyes hidden behind sunglasses but the tension was palpable. “You okay?”

Luke nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?” You tilted your head, watching him curiously.

Luke’s eyes involuntarily traced your face, landing on your lips a moment longer. Your breath hitched, the air between you charged with something unspoken but very real. “Yeah… really good.”

And just like that, the distance between you vanished.

It happened fast, almost like you both decided at the same moment. One second you were staring at him, heart racing, and the next his lips were on yours, the kiss electric and urgent. You didn’t know who moved first, and you didn’t care.

All the years of restraint, of not crossing the line, melted away as your lips moved together. Your hands found Luke’s curls, tugging on them slightly which elicited a groan from him. You moved onto his lap, no longer oblivious to the physical toll you had taken on Luke. His hands hesitated at first, but then they slid down your sides, his touch searing. He traced down your ribcage, onto your waist, then finally settled on your ass.

The kiss deepened, both of you getting lost in the moment as the years of pent-up tension finally released in waves. You tugged on his roots, causing him to squeeze your ass tightly, a low grumbling coming from his throat. Your fingers untangled from his brown locks, tracing down Luke’s shoulders and onto his torso, feeling the curves of his abs under your fingertips. Luke shivered beneath you despite the burning sun that shone down.

You finally pulled back, the both of you gasping for air, your chests rising and falling rapidly. Your gaze dropped to his slightly swollen lips, then to his bare chest glistening in the sunlight. The intensity of the moment suddenly caught up to you — his hands still gripping your ass, his body warm and hard beneath yours. You realized the position you were in, straddling him, looking dishevelled as one of your bikini straps had slipped down your shoulder, exposing a deep tan line.

Luke’s eyes followed the movement, his pupils blown wide as he swallowed hard. The weight of everything you two had held back over the years came crashing down on him. His grip on your waist loosened, his hands hovering as he was unsure of what to do next. You felt the tension in the air shift, both of you realizing you’d crossed a line that you couldn’t un-cross, no matter how badly the two of you have wanted to all along.

“Oh, God,” you whispered, your eyes wide as you pulled back slightly. “What did we just do?”

Luke ran a hand through his hair, looking as freaked out as you felt. His cheeks were flushed, though you couldn’t tell if it was from the kiss or the heat. “I don’t know. I—” He looked down, then back at you. “Does this change everything?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your mind racing with all the implications of what just happened. “I…we should head back.”

You swung your leg back over Luke, standing up and quickly walking back towards the boat. You grabbed your hoodie and threw it on despite the heat, feeling like you needed to cover yourself, needing something to hide behind. Luke sat there for a moment longer, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched you retreat. He ran his hands over his face, trying to make sense of what happened, but the feeling of your body pressed against his lingered too heavily. His mind was a mess of excitement and confusion, with lingering sentiments of regret as he couldn’t help but feel that everything was screwed now. Luke stood up quickly, jogging to catch up to you, but the air between you was thick and awkward now.

The boat ride back to the lake house was silent, and the roar of the motor made it easy for neither of them to face the reality of the situation. You sat in the front hold, knees tucked to your chest, staring out at the water as it splashed against the sides of the boat, stray droplets hitting your skin. Luke sat in the driver's seat, gripping the wheel a little too tightly, sneaking glances at you every few seconds.

As the lake house came into view, you stood up quickly, ready to jump out as soon as you were close enough to the dock. Your heart was still racing, no longer from excitement, but from the overwhelming sense of reality that had come crashing down. All the unspoken tension, all the nights you spent wondering if this would ever happen, it had—too fast, too soon. You didn’t know how to face it, how to face Luke.

The second the boat docked, you jumped out onto the wooden pier, barely pausing to steady yourself. You grabbed the rope, helping Luke quickly tie up the boat, before starting up the dock towards the house.

Luke hopped out, following you closely. “Wait, can we talk for a sec?” he called after you, his voice shaky, filled with desperation.

But you were already halfway to the house, your footsteps quickening. “I…I need a minute, Luke,” you replied without turning around, feeling your chest tighten with the weight of everything.

Luke stood there for a moment, watching you disappear inside. His shoulders slumped in defeat as he ran a hand through his hair again, frustrated with himself. He knew that something had changed between you before this but now this was something that was going to be impossible to ignore.

Inside the house, you hurried up the stairs to your room, closing the door softly behind you before sinking onto the edge of the bed. Your heart was still pounding, not from the brisk walk you’d just done to escape Luke, but instead as you replayed the kiss in your head — how natural it had felt, how long you had waited for it, and yet how terrifying it was now that it had happened. You buried your face in your hands, trying to slow the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

As the sun set over the lake, the tension between you and Luke didn’t go unnoticed by the others at dinner. You didn’t sit in your normal spots next to each other, instead sitting at opposite ends of the table, avoiding eye contact, and only speaking when necessary. You kept in conversation with Mark, bringing up just about anything you could think of to avoid interacting with Luke. The energy felt heavy, and no one could ignore how different things seemed between you two.

After dinner, it didn’t take long for the others in the house to confront you and Luke about what had happened that afternoon. Luke found himself outside on the back porch with Quinn and Jack, while you were cornered inside playing pool with Mark and Ethan.

Quinn and Jack watched as their little brother swirled his glass over and over, the sound of the liquid sloshing and the crickets chirping being the only sounds around them. Quinn leaned back in his chair, studying his brother carefully. His bottom lip was bright red from how hard Luke had been chewing on it, his eyes unfocused on the glass in his hand. Luke, uncharacteristically, hadn’t said anything in about 10 minutes. Normally he’d find a way to get his two cents in during every conversation, but his silence was overwhelming

“Alright, what’s going on? You and y/n have been acting weird all evening.” Quinn finally asked, honestly a bit weirded out by his brother’s behaviour.

Jack chimed in, less tactful than Quinn. “Yeah, man, did something happen on the boat? You’ve both been all… tense since you came back.”

Luke snapped his eyes off his cup, and onto his brothers whose eyes were burrowing into him. He hesitated, running a hand through his messy curls, his heart still racing from earlier. He couldn’t seem to get it to slow down. “I, uh… I made a move.” Luke admitted quietly. “I kissed her, I mean… We, uh, kissed.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jack, who smiled and nodded in approval at his brother. “Finally,” he grinned. “So… was it everything you’ve ever hoped for? Did it live up to your fantasies that you’ve been dreaming of since you were fifteen?”

Luke knew Jack was poking fun at him, but as he replayed the kiss in his head, he realized it was. “It was… intense,” Luke said, choosing his words carefully. “We were chatting and then I just kissed her. Her lips… it felt like there was nothing around us when I kissed her. But…”

Luke trailed off, sinking back into his chair as the events that immediately followed replayed in his head.

“But what?” Jack probed.

Luke sighed, feeling the weight of his doubts. “After we pulled apart, I freaked out. All I could think was that I’d just ruined everything between us. I like her a lot… but I didn’t think she felt the same. And… and now I’m worried our friendship is done.”

Quinn let out a little sigh, a small smile tugging on his lips at his little brother. “Look, if it came to that point, that the two of you got close enough to make out, then it means she probably feels the same way,” Quinn said, leaning forward in his chair. “You’re not going to ruin what you two have. I promise that your friendship is strong enough to survive this.”

Jack, more relaxed, shrugged. "Yeah, you clearly like each other. Just talk to her."

Inside, the sound of pool balls clacking loudly filled the air, and no conversation was exchanged between the three of them. Mark and Ethan exchanged silent looks that were traced with unspoken words, urging the other to break the ice and ask you about what had transpired on the boat. Finally, Ethan gave in to Mark’s coaxing stares.

“So uh,” Ethan started, drawing your eyes onto him. “You gonna tell us what the fuck happened on the boat?”

Your fingers stilled on the pool cue, hesitating as you glanced between him and Mark, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Your heart thudded uncomfortably in your chest. Mark and Ethan’s eyes bore into you, expecting answers you didn’t even have for yourself. The tension from earlier had followed you inside, wrapping around your chest like a vice.

You straightened up, brushing a hand through your hair as you tried to collect your thoughts. “I… I kissed him,” you admitted, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you. “Or maybe he kissed me. I don’t know… it just happened.” You let out a sigh, biting your bottom lip.

Mark raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly. “Okay, you kissed, big fucking whoop,” he said, taking a step forward. “Explain to me, then, why are you both acting like someone just died?”

Ethan snorted, leaning his cue against the table. "Yeah, seriously. It’s not like anyone’s surprised. You’ve had this thing between you for… what? Years?"

But to you, it felt like something had. Not a person, but something sacred between you and Luke—something that had been built carefully over years of knowing one another. You had always skirted the edges of something more, but you’d never let yourselves tip over. Until today. And now everything felt fragile like the ground beneath your feet was unstable.

“It’s not that simple. Luke and I… I mean we’ve always been friends. We never crossed that line, even when it felt like we were close. And now… I don’t know. I feel like I messed it all up.”

Ethan scoffed. “Messed it up? You didn’t mess anything up. You guys finally did something that everyone’s been telling you to do for ages. Hell, it’s about time.”

Mark chimed in, his tone a bit more understanding. “Listen, I know it’s scary now that you think your friendship’s changed, but from what I’ve seen, I don’t think anything’s ruined. I think this is something you’ve both wanted for a while. You’ve always liked each other, even if you both pretended not to.”

You looked down, fingers tapping nervously against the side of the pool table. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” you whispered, voicing the fear that had been gnawing at you since the moment you left the boat. “I mean, I… I basically jumped on him. What if I made things awkward for him?”

Mark rolled his eyes, walking over to stand beside you. “Trust me, if Luke had a problem with it, he would’ve said something by now. You didn’t force anything. From what it sounds like, he was just as into it as you were.”

Ethan nodded in agreement. “Exactly. Don’t overthink it. He’s probably freaking out just as much as you are. Just talk to him.”

You sighed, knowing deep down that they were right, but the anxiety still clawed at your insides. “I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” you admitted quietly. “We’ve been close for so long… if this messes things up, I don’t know how I’ll deal with it.”

Ethan couldn’t help but roll his eyes. No matter how many times they reassured you that your friendship wouldn’t be ruined, it was clear that your anxieties were getting the best of you. “You won’t ruin anything. I’ve seen how Luke looks at you. That guy is all in, even if he doesn’t realize it yet.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling on it anxiously. As their words sunk in, you couldn’t help but glance toward the back door, where you knew Luke was with his brothers. The thought of confronting him, of actually talking about what had happened, still terrified you. But deep down, you knew it was the only way to move forward.

Mark and Ethan’s advice echoed in your mind: Talk to him. It was scary, but you couldn’t deny the spark that had ignited between you and Luke. Maybe, just maybe, there was something more waiting for you both on the other side of this conversation.

After the conversation wound down, you couldn't help but feel the lingering tension between you and Luke. Even though Mark and Ethan’s reassurances helped ease some of your worries, the knot of uncertainty in your chest remained. It gnawed at you, the same question echoing over and over in your mind: What if this changes everything?

As the house settled into its quiet evening rhythm and the sounds of conversations faded into the background, your thoughts were still consumed by that kiss — how everything had felt so right in the moment, yet so terrifying in its aftermath. You and Luke had always danced around the possibility of something more, but now that it had finally happened, the reality of it weighed heavy on you.

Later that night, sleep refused to come, your mind running wild with the events of the day. You lay there in the quiet of your room, replaying the kiss over and over again. Every brush of Luke’s lips against yours, every touch of his hands, the way his breath had quickened as he held you close. The intensity of it all made your heart race, but so did the fear that followed.

You glanced at the clock: it was well past midnight, but sleep was the last thing on your mind. Instead, your thoughts turned to the advice Mark and Ethan had given you. Talk to him, they said. But what if talking only made things worse? What if everything fell apart? Yet, despite the fear gnawing at you, one truth remained clear: you couldn’t ignore this. You couldn’t pretend the kiss hadn’t happened or that it hadn’t meant anything. You needed to talk to Luke.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed back the covers and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your heart pounding as you quietly made your way to the door. The moment you turned the handle and pulled it open, you froze.

Luke stood there, his hand raised as if he was about to knock, his blue eyes wide in surprise. “Oh!” you gasped.

“I was just coming to talk to you,” he said, his voice soft and uncertain. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in. The air between you felt heavy with anticipation, and as Luke entered, the awkward tension that had been present all evening seemed to follow. You both sat on the edge of the bed, keeping a small but noticeable distance between each other. The silence was deafening as you each tried to find the right words to start.

“So…” you started, breaking the tension. “About earlier.”

“Yeah,” Luke muttered, glancing at you before looking down again. “That was… intense.”

You let out a small laugh, though it was more out of nerves than humour. “Yeah. It was.”

Luke rubbed the back of his neck, looking like he was struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry I freaked out. I didn’t mean for it to… you know, get weird.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, it wasn’t just you. I was freaking out too. I mean, we’ve been friends for so long, and I didn’t know if this would… ruin that.”

Luke’s eyes finally met yours, and there was something vulnerable in his gaze. “I thought the same thing. But… I think we’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.”

You fought a smile that was grappling to show, needing to hear Luke say it. “What do you mean?”

Luke swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I want us to be more than friends. I’ve wanted it for a long time, but I didn’t think you felt the same. But after today…” He trailed off, his words hanging in the air.

“I do,” you whispered. “I’ve felt the same way for a while. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

Relief washed over Luke’s face, and a small smile tugged at his lips. A matching smile formed on your lips as you thought for a moment. “How do we move forward? Like… as more than friends,” you asked.

“I think we just stay the same,” Luke shrugged. “Except now I can call you my girlfriend, and I can kiss you, and we can have sex.”

You laughed, feeling some of the tension melt away. “Is that all?”

“Yeah,” Luke replied with a grin, leaning closer. “Is that okay with you?”

Your breath hitched as the space between you shrank. “Yeah. It’s more than okay.”

Without another word, Luke leaned in, and this time, when your lips met, there was no hesitation. All the years of restraint, of not crossing the line, melted away as your hands found his curls, tugging them gently. A low groan escaped him as you moved into his lap, feeling the heat between you intensify. His hands slid down your body, resting on your waist before moving lower, gripping you as he pulled you closer. You could feel every inch of him beneath you, the warmth of his skin against yours. The world outside faded away, and all that mattered was the two of you, finally letting go of everything you’d been holding back.

The weight of the uncertainty that had been sitting between you all evening lifted, replaced by a dizzying sense of relief and excitement. Luke's hands gripped your hips firmly, grounding you in the moment. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, fast and erratic, matching the wild rhythm of your own. The connection between you had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, but now it was tangible, electric, and you couldn’t get enough of it.

Luke’s lips moved against yours with a sense of urgency, wanting to taste every bit of you. His hands slid up your sides, fingers brushing your skin under your shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You let out a soft sigh against his lips.

Pulling back slightly, you caught your breath as you both took a moment to come back to reality. Luke’s hands stayed on your waist, his thumbs gently brushing your skin, as if he didn’t want to let go.

“I can’t believe we waited this long,�� Luke whispered, his breath warm against your lips.

You laughed softly, reaching up to his curls and gently running a hand through them. “I know, it feels kind of crazy, right?”

He chuckled, a low sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “We’re idiots. Could’ve saved ourselves a lot of trouble.”

You smiled, scanning his eyes. There was something different in them now—no more hesitation, no more uncertainty. Just Luke, as you had always known him, but also something more. “Better late than never, though,” you teased softly.

Luke's hands moved up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing gently across your cheeks. “You know, I meant what I said earlier,” he whispered. “I’ve wanted this for a long time. I just didn’t think you’d ever want me like that.”

You blinked, feeling your heart squeeze at his vulnerability. “Luke, I’ve always wanted you,” you admitted quietly, your voice shaking just slightly. “I just… I was scared.”

His gaze softened, and he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I get it. I was scared too. But I’m not scared anymore.”

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth flood your chest at his words. “Me either,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through his curls. “I’m not scared anymore.”

The moment cooled down, and you both slipped into a comfortable silence, basking in the newfound closeness. You moved up the bed and under the covers, wrapping yourselves in each other’s arms. The steady rise and fall of Luke’s chest and the soft sound of crickets outside lulled you into a sense of peace. With his hand gently tracing up and down your side, you nodded off, feeling the weight of all the years and uncertainty melt away, leaving only the warmth of the present.

[novaursa]

okk hear me out!

gwayne x daemon daughter // kink repro

We all remember the tournament in s1, just imagine viserys decide that his niece (who is younger than nyra maybe 16) should marry sir gwayne to make more strength between their houses.

time pass they fell in love in oldtown and they raided Daeron as their own. They all come back when Luke was name heir of drifmark (during the audience). Daemon is furious to see her with gwayne.

But their chamber is right next to daemon and nyra, and at night gwayne is way more than ready to make understand that she is his 😏🔥

In Defiance of the Dragon

- Summary: When your uncle, King Viserys, promised your hand to Gwayne, your father was least pleased about it.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The air in the tournament grounds is drenched with the scent of crushed flowers and churned earth, the banners of noble houses fluttering like the wings of restless dragons. The sun casts a golden shine over the scene, making the polished armor of the knights gleam like fire. You stand at the edge of the royal pavilion, a place of honor, though it feels more like a cage at this moment. Your heart pounds in your chest as the king—your uncle, Viserys—raises his hand to command silence.

The crowd hushes, anticipation hanging in the air. You can feel the weight of a thousand eyes upon you, but none as heavy as the gaze of Ser Gwayne Hightower. His presence is unmistakable even among the throng of knights, his armor adorned with the sigil of his house, the beacon of the Hightower shining bright against the steel. Your breath catches as you meet his gaze, a fleeting moment that seems to stretch into eternity. There is something in his eyes—an unspoken promise, a plea for understanding.

Viserys’ voice booms across the grounds, his words carrying the weight of royal decree. "Today, before the tilts commence, let it be known that my beloved niece, the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, shall be wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower. This union shall strengthen the bond between our noble houses, binding the blood of Old Valyria to the steadfast walls of Oldtown."

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Otto Hightower, standing beside the king, allows himself a thin, satisfied smile. The whisper of steel, the low hum of murmurs, and the occasional startled cry from the gathered lords and ladies mingle with the pounding in your ears. Beside you, Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent Hightower exchange a glance, though their expressions reveal little. You know Rhaenyra's thoughts well enough; her small hand squeezes yours briefly, a silent assurance.

Your eyes dart to the stands where your father, Prince Daemon, lounges. His posture is deceptively relaxed, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drum against the arm of his seat. His eyes—those unmistakable violet eyes—burn with an intensity that sets your nerves on edge. When he rises from his seat, you feel a tremor of fear run through you, though you fight to keep your face composed.

Daemon’s voice, sharp and cutting, pierces the air. "I would face Ser Gwayne in the first tilt. Let us see if this union has the favor of the gods."

The crowd roars in approval, eager for the bloodshed and spectacle that is sure to follow. Gwayne’s gaze shifts, now locked onto Daemon’s. You see the flicker of concern in his eyes, quickly masked by the steel of resolve. He inclines his head, accepting the challenge with a courtly grace that belies the danger he now faces.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The fear gnaws at you, a beast with claws that rake against your insides. You force yourself to remain still, even as every instinct screams at you to intervene, to do something—anything—to protect Gwayne from your father’s wrath.

Alicent notices your distress, her voice a gentle whisper in your ear. "Do not fear, my lady. Ser Gwayne is a skilled knight. He will honor you in this contest."

Her words are meant to comfort, but they do little to soothe the storm raging within you. Your eyes dart between the two men who now occupy your every thought—the father who has always shielded you with his fierce love, and the knight who has stolen your heart with his quiet strength. What would your father say if he knew how often Gwayne had filled your thoughts, how often you had dreamed of a future together, away from the politics and dangers of the court?

As the knights prepare for the tilt, you can barely breathe. The cheers of the crowd fade into a dull roar in your ears, and all you can focus on is the two figures facing each other across the field. Daemon’s black armor, dark as night and adorned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, stands in stark contrast to Gwayne’s silvered plate. The dragon against the tower—a battle that feels all too symbolic.

Rhaenyra leans in close, her voice urgent and low. "You know your father, sister. He won’t hold back. You must steel yourself."

"I know," you whisper, though your voice trembles with the effort of holding back the fear that threatens to overwhelm you. You cannot let anyone see how deeply this affects you—not Rhaenyra, not Alicent, and certainly not your father.

The trumpets blare, signaling the beginning of the tilt. The horses rear, their hooves pounding the earth as Daemon and Gwayne charge at each other. Time slows to a crawl, and you can only watch, helpless, as the gap between them closes.

The impact is thunderous, the sound of steel against steel ringing out across the field. The force of the blow unseats Gwayne, and he crashes to the ground in a heap of armor and dust. Your heart lurches in your chest, and you rise to your feet, barely aware of the gasps and cries around you.

"Gwayne!" you hear yourself cry out, the name escaping your lips before you can stop it.

The crowd is on its feet, roaring with excitement, but all you can see is Gwayne, motionless on the ground. The world blurs as tears well in your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to show any weakness.

Daemon circles back, his expression inscrutable behind his helm, but you can feel his eyes on you. This was no accident; he wanted to make a point, to remind everyone that no one—Hightower or otherwise—would take what belonged to a dragon without consequence.

But then, Gwayne stirs. He rises slowly, his movements pained but determined. Relief floods through you, but it is quickly replaced by a renewed sense of dread. Daemon is not done—not yet.

Before you can react, Gwayne is back on his feet, his eyes locked onto Daemon's. The defiance in his stance is clear—he will not yield, not even to a prince of the blood. You feel a swell of pride for him, despite the fear gnawing at your insides.

Daemon, sensing the mood of the crowd shifting, raises his lance once more, ready for another pass. But this time, something in Gwayne’s demeanor gives you hope. His gaze flickers to you for the briefest of moments, and you see the silent vow in his eyes—a promise to fight for you, no matter the odds.

The horses charge again, and this time, Gwayne meets Daemon’s strike with a fierce determination. The impact is brutal, but Gwayne holds his ground, refusing to be unseated. The crowd roars its approval, the tension in the air is felt.

When the dust settles, both knights remain in their saddles, battered but unbroken. It is Daemon who finally raises his hand, signaling the end of the tilt. There is no victor, no vanquished—only two men who have tested each other’s mettle and found themselves equally matched.

The relief that washes over you is overwhelming, and you sink back into your seat, your hands trembling in your lap. You dare a glance at Gwayne, who inclines his head to you with a slight, weary smile. It is a small gesture, but it fills your heart with warmth.

As Daemon dismounts, he casts a long, lingering look in your direction. There is something unspoken in his gaze, a challenge, perhaps—or a warning. But for now, you do not care. You have seen Gwayne survive your father’s wrath, and that is enough for you.

For the first time since this day began, you allow yourself a small, secret smile. The road ahead may be fraught with danger and intrigue, but you will face it with the courage of a dragon—and with Gwayne by your side.

You stand at the window of the Hightower, looking out over the sprawling city of Oldtown, where the cobbled streets wind like serpents beneath the autumn sun. The air is cool, tinged with the salt of the Whispering Sound, carrying with it the scent of the sea that you’ve come to know so well. The bells from the Starry Sept toll the hour, their sound reverberating through the stone walls of your home.

Your home. It’s a thought that still brings a small smile to your lips, even after all these years. The Hightower is vast, imposing, and ancient, its walls steeped in the history of Oldtown and the Hightowers themselves. Yet within these walls, you have found something unexpected—peace, and more than that, love.

Gwayne is beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back, a comforting weight. His touch is gentle, yet there’s a strength in it that you’ve come to depend on. He’s watching you with that soft expression that always melts the last of your worries away, the lines of his face relaxed, his grey eyes bright with the warmth of the afternoon light.

“He’s arrived,” Gwayne says, his voice low and calm, a grounding presence. You turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, the unspoken question in your eyes.

“Prince Daeron,” he clarifies, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Alicent’s letter arrived this morning, and they’ll be here within the hour.”

You nod, the familiar flutter of anticipation and duty stirring in your chest. Prince Daeron, the youngest son of Queen Alicent, sent to Oldtown to be raised and educated under the care of your husband’s family. It’s a great honor, of course, but more than that, it feels like a trust, a bond that ties your houses closer together.

Gwayne’s hand moves from your back to your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “He’s young, but from what we’ve heard, he’s bright and eager to learn. He’ll thrive here, I’m sure of it.”

You smile at his optimism, leaning into him slightly. “We’ll make sure of it,” you reply, your voice carrying the quiet determination that has grown within you over the years. Oldtown has become a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you and Gwayne have built a life together, despite the stormy beginnings of your union.

You can still remember the day of the tourney, the way your heart had pounded with fear as your father had chosen Gwayne as his opponent. The memory lingers like a shadow, but it’s one you’ve learned to live with, just as you’ve learned to live with the man who became your husband.

Gwayne, sensing the shift in your mood, squeezes your hand gently. “He’ll have the best tutors, the finest training. And he’ll have us.”

“Yes,” you agree, turning your gaze back to the city below. “He’ll have us.”

The grand hall of the Hightower is filled with the warmth of a roaring fire, the stone hearth dominating the room. The thick tapestries that line the walls soften the sound of footsteps on the stone floor, and the smell of spiced wine and roasted meat fills the air.

Daeron is smaller than you expected, a boy of perhaps seven years, with a mop of silver hair that falls into his eyes. Those eyes, so much like his mother’s, are wide with curiosity and just a hint of nervousness as he stands before you and Gwayne.

“Welcome to Oldtown, Prince Daeron,” Gwayne says, his voice kind but formal, as befits the occasion. He kneels slightly, bringing himself closer to the boy’s level, a gesture of respect and warmth that seems to put Daeron at ease.

The boy glances up at you, his lips parting in a small, shy smile. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” he replies, his voice small but clear. Then, turning to you, he adds, “My lady.”

You kneel beside Gwayne, reaching out to take Daeron’s hand in yours. His fingers are cold, and you can feel the slight tremor in them. “You’ll be safe here, Prince Daeron,” you assure him softly. “This is your home now.”

Daeron looks up at you, his young face a mix of emotions—fear, uncertainty, but also trust. It’s a look that tugs at your heart, and you find yourself wanting to protect this boy, to give him the guidance and care that only family can provide.

“We’ll take good care of you,” you promise, your voice gentle but firm. “Just as we would our own.”

The boy nods, and you can see the tension in his small shoulders begin to ease. He looks around the hall, taking in the grandeur of the Hightower, the vastness of the space that is now his home. There’s still fear in his eyes, but there’s also a glimmer of something else—hope.

Gwayne rises to his feet, offering his hand to you. “Come,” he says to Daeron, “let’s show you the rest of the Hightower. There’s much to see, and I believe the maester has prepared something special for your arrival.”

Daeron hesitates for just a moment before he takes Gwayne’s offered hand, his small fingers gripping tightly as though seeking reassurance. You stand beside them, a silent guardian of this new bond that is being forged.

As you walk through the halls, Gwayne points out various tapestries, statues, and paintings, telling stories of the history of the Hightowers and Oldtown. Daeron listens intently, his earlier nervousness slowly melting away under the gentle guidance of your husband.

When you reach the maester’s chambers, you’re greeted by the sight of a table laden with books, scrolls, and an array of strange instruments that immediately capture Daeron’s interest. The maester, a kindly old man with a beard as white as snow, greets Daeron with a deep bow.

“Prince Daeron,” the maester says warmly, “I’ve prepared a special lesson for you, one that I think you’ll find quite interesting.”

Daeron’s eyes light up with curiosity, and for the first time since his arrival, you see a genuine smile on his face. He looks up at you and Gwayne, his eyes shining with excitement. “Thank you,” he says, his voice more confident now.

Gwayne squeezes your hand, and you can’t help but return the smile. This, you realize, is what it means to be a family—not just by blood, but by the bonds you choose to create. In this moment, with the warmth of the fire and the promise of a new beginning, you feel something settle in your heart, a sense of fulfillment that you hadn’t known you were missing.

As Daeron sits down with the maester, already engrossed in the lesson that has been prepared for him, you and Gwayne share a look, a silent understanding passing between you.

And in this moment, as you both watch Daeron eagerly absorb the knowledge being offered to him, you know that you wouldn’t have your life being lived in any other way.

The halls of the Red Keep are as imposing as ever as you and Gwayne make your way through the corridors. It's been years since you last walked these halls, and yet they feel as familiar as ever—haunted by memories both bitter and sweet.

Gwayne’s hand rests on your elbow, guiding you through the maze of the castle with practiced ease. He’s dressed in the colors of his house, the green and silver of the Hightowers, his expression calm and composed as always. But you know him well enough to sense the tension beneath the surface, the way his gaze sharpens when he hears a distant sound, always vigilant, always protective.

You both turn a corner and nearly collide with a small entourage, led by none other than Rhaenyra herself. She’s flanked by her husband—your father, Daemon—and their children, their steps purposeful, their expressions tense. Rhaenyra’s silver hair gleams under the flickering torchlight, her violet eyes widening slightly in surprise as she sees you.

“Rhaenyra,” you greet her, your voice soft but steady, betraying none of the uncertainty you feel. So much has changed, yet seeing her here, a part of you yearns for the easy camaraderie you once shared as children. 

“Cousin,” Rhaenyra replies, her voice warm despite the strain visible on her face. She glances at Gwayne and then back at you, her gaze searching, perhaps for some sign of how the years have treated you. “It’s been too long.”

“Far too long,” you agree, your eyes flicking to Daemon, who stands slightly behind Rhaenyra, his gaze locked on Gwayne. There’s a tension in his stance, a stiffness that wasn’t there before, and you know immediately that your father is displeased.

Daemon’s eyes are dark, and though he remains silent, the disapproval is clear. His gaze travels from Gwayne to you, then back again, lingering on the clasped hands between you and your husband. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and for a moment, the air seems to thicken with unspoken words and unresolved history.

“You’re back in the capital for the petitions, I presume?” Rhaenyra asks, breaking the silence, her tone carefully neutral. The mention of the petitions brings you back to the grim reality of why you’re all here—the matter of Driftmark, and the question of succession that has thrown the court into turmoil.

“Yes,” Gwayne answers before you can, his voice firm. “We came as soon as we heard.” He glances at Daemon, his expression respectful but guarded. “It seems the crown’s decision is in favor of your son.”

Rhaenyra’s face softens at the mention of Lucerys, but before she can respond, a voice from behind her interrupts. It’s Jacaerys, his young face set in determination. “The matter should have never been in question. Luke is the rightful heir to Driftmark.”

You see the fire in his eyes, the same fire that once burned in Rhaenyra at that age. It’s both heartening and concerning, especially now, in these treacherous waters.

“That he is,” you say gently, offering a smile to Jacaerys. “And it’s clear to anyone with eyes that he’ll make a fine lord.”

Before Jacaerys can respond, Daemon steps forward, his presence commanding attention. His eyes are locked onto yours now, and there’s a storm brewing behind them, a mix of emotions you can’t fully decipher. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, carrying the weight of a warning.

“You’ve found happiness in Oldtown, I see.” The words are directed at you, but his gaze shifts to Gwayne as he says it, his tone laced with something darker. “Though I wonder if the cost was worth it.”

You feel Gwayne’s hand tighten around yours, a subtle gesture of support. “Happiness is not something to be questioned, Father,” you reply calmly, meeting Daemon’s gaze without flinching. “Nor is the loyalty I hold to both my families.”

Daemon’s lips twitch, almost as if he’s about to say something more, but Rhaenyra places a gentle hand on his arm, silently urging him to hold his tongue. There’s a brief moment where it seems he might ignore her, but then he lets out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“We’re here to support our family,” Gwayne adds, his voice measured, addressing Daemon directly now. “In whatever way is needed.”

Daemon studies Gwayne for a long moment, the silence between them stretching thin. Finally, he gives a curt nod, though the hardness in his gaze doesn’t entirely soften. “As you should,” he says, the words clipped, before turning back to Rhaenyra.

“Come, we have business with the king,” he says to her, his voice brooking no argument.

Rhaenyra hesitates, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “We’ll speak later,” she promises, offering a small, genuine smile before following after Daemon, their children trailing behind her.

As they walk away, the tension slowly dissipates, leaving you standing beside Gwayne in the dimly lit corridor. You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, leaning slightly into your husband’s side. Gwayne wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his warmth a comfort against the chill that lingers in the air.

“That went… better than I expected,” Gwayne murmurs, a touch of wry humor in his voice, though you can hear the relief beneath it.

“He’s never going to fully approve,” you say quietly, your eyes fixed on the spot where your father had stood. “But he’ll have to accept it.”

Gwayne turns to you, his expression softening as he looks down into your eyes. “I don’t need his approval,” he says, his voice firm. “I have you, and that’s all that matters.”

You smile at that, a genuine smile that reaches your eyes, banishing the last of the unease. “And I have you,” you reply, your voice filled with the love and certainty that have grown between you over the years.

The heavy oak door of your chambers shuts behind you, a soft thud echoing through the room. The warmth of the fire flickers across the stone walls that dance in tandem with your heightened pulse. Gwayne stands before you, his emerald eyes sharp and intense, still simmering with the tension of your earlier encounter in the halls. He says nothing as he approaches, but the way his hand reaches for your waist and pulls you flush against him speaks volumes.

You’ve grown accustomed to the feel of him—the strength in his embrace, the heat of his breath against your skin—but tonight there is something different, something more urgent. The lingering traces of your father’s displeasure hang between you, and you know, without words, that it fuels Gwayne’s every movement.

His lips descend upon yours, fierce and claiming, tasting of the wine shared at the evening’s feast. You respond in kind, your hands weaving through the thick strands of his hair, pulling him closer, as though you could erase the earlier tension through sheer proximity.

His hands roam across your body with practiced familiarity, fingers curling around the ties of your gown, loosening the laces with deliberate slowness. Gwayne leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and rough. “I will make you scream for me tonight,” he promises, and the unspoken words hang heavy in the air—Let him hear.

Your heart flutters in response, not with fear, but with anticipation. The thought of your father just beyond the walls, likely brooding over his anger, stirs something within you. How often had Daemon whispered venom into your ear about the Hightowers, about how they were a poison slowly strangling your family? And yet here you are, wrapped in the arms of one who bears that very name, bound to him not only by vows but by something far deeper, something that even your father’s fury cannot tarnish.

Gwayne’s touch turns rougher, more insistent, and your breath catches in your throat as he lifts you with ease, laying you down onto the bed. The covers crumple beneath your weight, the mattress giving way as he settles over you, his eyes burning with a hunger that matches your own. “I want him to know,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips trailing fire down your throat, “that you belong to me.”

Your back arches involuntarily, and you bite down on your lip, the need to hold back your cries warring with the knowledge of who might hear. Gwayne’s hands grasp your hips, his grip possessive as he moves against you with a rhythm that leaves you breathless. Each movement, each deliberate thrust, is a challenge—a challenge to the walls that separate your chambers from those of your father and his wife.

The pressure builds inside you, the familiar heat coiling in your belly, and you grasp at Gwayne’s shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you fight against the wave of pleasure threatening to drown you. His mouth hovers over yours, demanding, coaxing you to give in, to let go.

And then you remember—Daemon’s chambers are just beyond. The thought of his reaction, of his barely concealed rage at the idea of you finding joy with a Hightower, sends a thrill through you. You gasp aloud as Gwayne drives into you harder, his breath ragged in your ear, “Louder,” he commands, his voice a mix of authority and need.

You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you, letting the sound of his name tear from your lips, louder than before, louder than you ever have. You imagine the look on your father’s face, his fists clenched in helpless fury, and the thought sends you spiraling into a pleasure so intense it nearly blinds you.

Gwayne’s name tumbles from your lips again and again, each cry more fervent than the last, as he brings you to the edge and beyond. You feel his satisfaction in the way he groans your name in return, his hold on you unyielding, as though he could anchor himself to you through sheer force of will.

When it’s over, when the last echoes of your cries have faded into the night, you lay beside him, your body spent and trembling, but your mind still racing. Gwayne’s hand rests possessively on your hip, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of exertion. “He heard you,” he says, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

You can only nod, the thought of what tomorrow might bring swirling in your mind. But for now, there is only this—only you and Gwayne, and the knowledge that whatever storm your father’s ire might bring, you would weather it together.

In the silence that follows, you curl closer to Gwayne, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest. “Tomorrow…” you begin, but your voice trails off.

“Tomorrow,” Gwayne echoes, his tone firm, reassuring, “we will face whatever comes. But tonight, you are mine, and that is all that matters.”

You smile softly at his words, closing your eyes as sleep finally begins to claim you.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Cary Grant (The Philadelphia Story, His Girl Friday, Bringing Up Baby, Charade)—just the peak of old-school Hollywood sexuality. The glam, the suits, the gentle wit, the acrobatics, those eyes that always looked like they knew exactly what movie they were in and were laughing at the joke...

Vincent Price (Laura, Leave Her to Heaven, House on Haunted Hill, The Masque of the Red Death)—svelte, stylish, horrifying, beautiful, wickedly funny, camp and gorgeous and evil. he was an art connoisseur who advocated passionately indigenous art, he was an actual literal gourmet cook, he was so liberal he got greylisted during the mccarthy era for being too rad, he's my favorite muppets guest of all time

This is round 4 of the bracket. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage man.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Vincent Price propaganda:

Submitted: this fancam

Submitted: this entire Tumblr page

Cary Grant propaganda:

"My Golden Age of Hollywood professor, who was very outwardly gay himself, put it this way: Even though Grant's sexuality was kind of an open secret in Hollywood, the public couldn't know in any real way. But anybody could see that there was a queerness about him, so he was casted for roles where he physically embodies his masculinity in a non-explicit but queer way. Bringing Up Baby is famous for the scene where Grant wears a frilly robe (pictured below, but what people don't always realise is that he plays kind of an awkward nerd in that movie. He's a hot awkward scientist in a grand robe!!! Hot!!! In The Philadelphia Story, one of my famous movies of all time, he plays C. K. Dexter Haven, a rich, sarcastic, supposedly abusive guy. And yet, what we see is this laid back, dandy-ish figure, who absolutely does not feel threatened when a woman he supposedly loves (Katharine Hepburn) starts having feelings for, and hooks up with another guy (James Stewart). He lets a drunk Stewart into his office and helps him get his job back! Obviously that is the script and not the actor, but the whole film, and that scene in particular, shows him having this very queer attitude of openness toward Hepburn and Stewart, which is only amplified by the casting of Grant and his portrayal of the character. Anyway, this is not an essay arguing for The Philadelphia Story to be considered a queer film, all I will say is: he's super hot in it."

The link to the above mentioned frilly robe scene from Bringing Up Baby: "I just went gay all of a sudden!"

last minute cary grant propaganda: the last few paragraphs of that new vanity fair article about him and randolph scott that just came out 2 days ago on cary's birthday where he calls it "gravity collapse" and "love at first sight" and says their souls touched and and and i'm actually sharing this mostly because it makes me emotional but also because a vote for archibald is a vote for love. this is my message. apologies for sounding mildly insane.

[vir-bellanaris]

The ending was fine, but what really bothered me what the fact that Lavellan is, once again, cast aside in second position. Solas calls her "vhenan", writes her letters, says his feelings for her will never change etc... and continues destroying her world because he's sad over another woman. At the end, it's Mythal who changes his mind, not Lavellan.

And once again, it's Lavellan who takes agency, who shows interest, by insisting to go with him, by starting the kiss, by touching his back while he simply stands there, hands crossed without even looking at her. I don't know, I'm glad they're finally together, but it really felt like Lavellan is the one who's pining over this relationship, not Solas.

Mythal is essentially Solas' creator. She "pulled him from the Fade" and gave him a purpose, even if it was one that twisted his nature. He was bound to her service. I don't believe at all they were romantically involved, despite speculation in and out of the Veilguard game. Mythal herself consistently treats him as an "old friend" and even as a child, despite their ages being the same.

Their affection for each other runs deep. And is an ancient bond. Lavellan doesn't have that rapport with him, no matter how much they love each other.

At the end of Trespasser Solas refuses to allow Lavellan to follow, not wanting her to see what he becomes. And I think we the player saw what he became, he tried to become more the Dread Wolf than Solas.

You cannot get the happy ending without the Inquisitor, so I would say they are in fact very important. When Solas says "thank you" during that final scene he is addressing directly the Inquisitor. (Unless Lavellan kisses him then he says "Thank you, Rook")

Solas loves Lavellan. She is his heart. For the past decade or more he has denied his heart and tried to harden it against those who care for him. He "killed" Mythal when even she tried to dissuade him from his course.

It took Rook, Mythal AND the Inquisitor together to convince him to stop.

As for the animations of the final scene. I couldn't be more pleased. They kissed. Despite Solas just having an emotional breakdown, demon blood in his mouth, and probably a concussion. Yes, Lavellan was the one to reach out but I wasn't expecting any different.

He doesn't want to subject her to the "terrible" place he is going to atone for what he has done. She was the one who stepped forward and this time insisted she go with him. And he gave her zero argument, just one warning it won't be easy for them

I wish he had reached for her hand there at the end. But as she touched his shoulder it was his magic that enveloped her as well, making sure to take her with him to where his destination lies.

Also adding onto this because the way he looks at Lavellan in this game is more meaningful to me than any touch they could've animated. I mean cmon...look at this and tell me he isn't deeply in love with her.

I mean PLEASE

And in the kiss animation you can see his mouth moving as he kisses her back eeeeeeeeee okay...I'm done.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, omegaverse, poly

gn reader

Thinking about Betas and how lost they are navigating the world of Alphas and Omegas. Betas, with no second gender and none of those primal instincts, who has to listen to all this mating and bonding drama without ever participating in any of it. Betas, who often find Omegas cute and Alphas hot but who feel kind of left out of the running. Betas who make great clueless friends…

“So, do you like—take suppressants for your heats or?” he asks during lunch.

You knew it was coming. You’d just had a special guest lecture about heats and ruts, and all your friends, the entire two of them, were both betas—so it was mostly all new to them.

“Dude! That’s so personal!” your other friend berates, jabbing his side and casting him a glare before throwing you an apologetic smile on both of their behalf. But you could tell he was burning with the same curiosity, he was just polite enough to look it up on his phone instead.

“M’sorry, but teach didn’t explain it well,” he apologizes while rubbing his side clear of the definite bruise left there. “Like…” He almost pouts, picking at his lunch. “What do heats actually do? Like—does it compel Alphas to—uhm… have sex with you? Or?”

“Dude!” the other all but shrieks.

“It’s fine,” you declare with a little laugh. Though it’s true what he says that it’s personal, you wouldn’t really mind disclosing some of the basics. Especially if it meant killing off a few rumors.

Though you regret it a bit once both of them end up staring at you wide-eyed and waiting.

“Uhm…” You swallow thickly—you didn’t realize it was that interesting. “So, it’s really… just a faint scent that’s caused by pheromones.” They don’t even blink as they listen, lunches all but forgotten in front of them. “All it really does is let people know when I’m—or an Omega—uhm… is most fertile.”

“Right…” One of them nods respectfully.

But the other, as usual, has more questions to ask. “So why take suppressants if that’s all it is?”

You blush. “Well, it’s kinda embarrassing to walk around letting people know such a thing…” That’s half of it. “But, uhm… well—heats don’t affect others more than it affects Omegas themselves. It’s kinda like… having a fever—but also having swallowed a lot of cough syrup. And well…” You’re really blushing now. Lowering your voice almost to a whisper. “There’s the horny aspect of it too.”

The other two blush as well. The more mature one had gone silent a while ago, but even so, it didn’t stop the other from continuing. “So, like a drug then?”

That wasn’t the worst way of putting it, so you nodded. “I guess you could say that.”

He smiles then, widely. “Sounds kinda fun!”

And the other jabs his side once more. “Dude, shut up already.” 

You didn’t think a Beta could ever do the job of an Alpha—but lucky you had two of them.

You have one of them in your mouth, suckling sweetly, hooded eyes glossy with your heat, looking up at him—your well-mannered Beta friend who barely dares touch you but is absolutely falling apart by the way your tongue swirls around his shaft, trailing veins as you take him as far back as your uvula. He’s biting his lip hard, keeping it tucked so as not to moan out the way his friend is.

He isn’t afraid to touch—or he couldn’t hold back even if he were. He’s squeezing the fat of your haunches hard enough to leave bruises, keeping you in place as he pounds you hard from behind. Unabashed groans and moans leave him, along with the slick squelches of your hole soaking and sucking him in.

“Fu-uck, can’t believe it—it’s so fucking wet—” He’s drooling and sweating, eyes misty and glued to the sight of where he’s drilling the juice out of you. It’s unlike anything he’s ever seen. Not that he has too much experience, but he’s never wanted to cum so badly in his entire life. “You’re so tight—squeezing me so hard!” he rambles while continuing his downright desperate pace.

“Shut up…” the other mutters under his breath but doesn’t take his eyes off you. You’re bewitching him with your gaze—round doe-eyes, blown wide with pleasure. He wonders if you even know what’s happening or if it’ll be like a blacked-out hangover in the morning. He ought to have asked more questions when he could. But he can’t seem to bring himself to care. In any case, you seem to be loving the taste of his pre, and the thought is making every part of his body buzz with warmth. You’ll probably drink his cum with the way you’re drooling and mewing around him.

It nearly brings them both to tears—it’s like the wettest dream come true as they both fill you up—one deep into your womb as he bottoms out tightly and the other down your throat with your lips wrapped all the way down at the base.

They both collapse afterward. One lies on his back and the other on his stomach—bodies stippled with sweat—both heaving.

You pout, looking at them. They must be out of their minds if they think that’s all it takes. You straddle the one on his back, both your hands around his softening dick, rubbing it back into hardness.

“Hey, hey, hey—hey, wait!” he stammers, shooting up and stopping you—both hands wrapping around your wrist to try and pry you off without prying his dick off while at it.

“No!” you whine. “Not done.”

The look in your eyes is sore enough to make any man fall to his knees.

“Please? I need more… please give me more…”

If he was blushing before, he’s full feverish now. Panning from your pouty face riddled with desperation down at his fellow Beta friend who looks back up at him with a similar expression.

We're in trouble.

♡ BNHA – ShinKami, KiriKami, KamiSero, KiriBaku, TodoDeku, loserboys ShigaDabi or DabiHawks ♡ JJK – ItaFushi, loserboys SatoSugu ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka, ♡ CSM – AkiDen

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[importantstudentbusinessspy-blog]

Dragon Blood

Chapter 1: Jace is furious that a mere servant like you has Targaryen blood. It would benefit you to know your place.

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Dragonseed (f) reader

The grand halls of Dragonstone echoed with the sounds of dragons and the footsteps of staff. You walked among them, invisible. As a servant, you were accustomed to blending into the background, a silent observer to the lives of the Targaryens.

Today was no different. The sun cast long rays through the high windows as you carried a tray of goblets, preoccupied with tasks. You barely noticed the tall figure that stood watching you from a shadowed alcove.

"Come with me," a commanding voice cut through your thoughts. You looked up to see Jacaerys Velaryon.

You hesitated, but his tone left no room for disobedience. It wasn't as if you could deny a prince anyway. You followed him down a dimly lit corridor. You rushed to brush down your dress and try to make yourself presentable. He led you into a small, secluded room, closing the door behind you with a thud.

"Do you know why you're here?" Jacaerys asked, his eyes boring into yours. It seemed like he was studying your eyes, and you cast yours down, unable to handle his intensity.

You had been self-concious about your eyes. Their unusual purple hue had caused you to be the butt of many jokes and accusations.

"No, my prince," you stammered.

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "Y/N, L/N" he said. “That's your full name, correct?”

"Yes," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, before adding the customary, “My prince.”

"I've been researching our bloodlines, looking for potential dragon riders. Imagine my surprise when I found out about you," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "A servant, hiding in plain sight."

You blinked, confusion mingling with fear. "Me?"

"Yes, you," he replied, his eyes narrowing. "You are a Targaryen bastard. Your lineage gives you a claim, a potential to bond with a dragon."

The revelation hit you like a tidal wave. Yet the intensity in Jacaerys' eyes told you he believed it.

"But... I'm just a servant," you whispered, struggling to process your shock.

"Aye, just a servant," he echoed, his gaze piercing. "With the blood of the dragon in her veins."

His tone was insinuating that you were unworthy of the privilege, which made you acutely aware of the power dynamic. He was a prince, the heir to the throne. He was pure and noble and chosen by the gods, while you were a nobody, a commoner, privileged to even be in his presence. It made you feel small and insignificant.

"My prince," you replied, bowing your head. "I have no wish to claim a dragon. I am content as I am."

Jacaerys' eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Forgive me if I don't believe you." he said, his voice low and challenging. "Power corrupts even those who do not wish for it."

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The revelation that you were a Targaryen bastard haunted you. You had never known your parents, raised by an innkeeper who later sent you to work as a servant at the Dragonstone. Your life had been a series of harsh treatments, endless work, and neglect. But now, the knowledge that you had the blood of the dragon stirred something in you.

As you scrubbed the floors of the castle, you couldn't help but ponder what it would be like to be a dragon rider, to wield such awesome power. You imagine life as a princess, adored and respected, a major contrast to your current situation. But you kept these thoughts to yourself.

Today, your tasks took you to the castle study, carrying scrolls and parchments for the maesters. As you entered the study, you noticed the prince perched over maps and documents, his expression intense and focused.

Your curiosity got the better of you. Gathering your courage, you approached him hesitantly. "My prince, may I ask you something?" you bowed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jacaerys looked up. "What is it?" he asked, his tone measured but firm.

"I... I was wondering if you could tell me who my parents were" you said, your heart pounding in your chest.

"And why would you need that information?" he responded, his gaze challenging.

You flinched slightly but forced yourself to speak. "I grew up not knowing where I came from. It's a curiosity I can't ignore... even if its just their names. Please."

Jacaerys studied you for a long moment, his expression a contemplation. Finally, he sighed, his tone remaining hard. "Your mother was a distant niece of my great-grandsire," he began, watching your reaction closely, "and your father was a mere farm hand. As far as I could tell, she was a bastard herself, and they were both commoners like you.”

His words stung, but you were grateful to at least have some information. You fidgeted with your hands. “Do you know their names?”

“I couldn't find your fathers name, but your mother was recorded. Her name was Halaena.”

“Halaena,” you repeated, not understanding why your heart sped up as you spoke the name of your mother. It was beautiful. "Thank you, my prince," you said, bowing your head, hiding a smile.

He regarded you with a mix of disdain and curiosity. "You're welcome.” he said before turning back to his maps and documents, effectively dismissing you.

You turned to leave the study, your mind racing, but as you reached for the door handle, he called after you. “Remember your place.” Jace didn't bother lifting His eyes off the maps to see your response.

Your hands balled into fists. You've never interacted with Jace much. But your fellow servents had only nice things to say about him. Well, clearly, they had misread his character.

Nevertheless, your mother's name echoed in your thoughts, bringing a strange sense of satisfaction; finally, you've answered a question you've had your whole life. For the first time in your life, you felt a connection to your past. As you resumed your duties, a quiet resolve began to take root within you. A hope that this is a potential plan b.

[acid-ixx]

IM ALMOST DONE

THIS IS GONNA BE GUT-WRENCHING

Taken from the prequel:

you can't deny the bitterness and the clenching of your teeth whenever you stumble upon a room and see your father and your younger brother watching a movie together.

— masterlist !

help ??!? u rlly are feeding the community with ur fanart 🩷 bruce and damian bonding together despite it only being months since he was introduced into the family literally ruins any sliver of hope and only furthers the longing (name) would have, and the fact that they're mere silhouettes in the art is so <33 erm ignore my suddenly disappearance for a day or two, i was feeling unwell 💔

otherwise, here's something for u because i appreciate everything you send me ! ft. post-kidnapped reader with yan! bruce and damian.

bruce and damian after kidnapping you would not take lightly the diary entries you have written, expressing jealousy and contempt towards your biological father and half-brother, about how it was alfred who had to take the time of his busy day to watch a movie with you instead. when you write about how you wished alfred was your father instead, bruce would not only feel his heart clenching but he'd also need the feel to prove himself better than the past, that he can and will be the only father you would ever need.

add damian to the mix, who had his own bouts of jealousy towards you, who wanted to bond with you in ways closer than you ever will with your other siblings, who felt that deep pit of guilt that he knows he could never crawl out of, with his addled tantrums...

— and you get yourself an overtly clingy dynamic with those two in the same room as you. now, instead of both of them dismissing your presence, the two would be fixated upon your every movement, your expressions, your actions. anything and everything would be documented and if you ate less or talked less, damian would always be the first to comment upon it, and your dad (as you should be calling bruce) would take damian's observations seriously. there's no escaping their grips.

no, you can't say no just now! damian wants to watch animal documentaries with you and that's the only thing keeping him from slicing someone's head off their body! what do you mean you don't want to spend time with them? bruce just needs to have his baby by his side and— no, just because you're over 18 doesn't mean your family would lessen their affection towards you! you're still so young and who knows what path of self-destruction you'd bring on yourself if you're left to your own whims.

the family is dysfunctional enough, so any concept of personal space is nonexistent. it makes everything worse if you'd have to deal with more than two people in the same room... and two very strong, capable, and deadly vigilantes who invites you to watch movies with them isn't very soothing to your veins but those hands that can crush your throats are your family and they make it obvious that you're the favorite, that despite the... rough past they inflicted on you, they'll always love you; so what's the point in denying them?

you'll be squashed between your father and your youngest brother on the couch, with fluffy blankets and your favorite show playing in the background. you express any ounce of discomfort and bruce would immediately ask you what's wrong, what do you need, are you hungry, perhaps? is the popcorn stale? or do you want another snack? he'll pause the movie and ask you with practiced precision, the furrow on his brows and analytical eyes are an immediate signal that all your answers are taken seriously. yet despite his intimidating tactics, despite the lack of light in the room casting a shadow on his face, he questions you with your head laid on his chest and a scarred hand trying to soothingly run through your hair.

meanwhile, damian wouldn't even hesitate resting his head on your shoulders, finding it useless to silently express his need for your physical affection. so he takes it in himself to wrap his entire body around your torso, hands locking you in a grip that provides scorching heat under the countless of blankets you're already wrapped in. sometimes, he doesn't even know that he occasionally nuzzles against your neck, and you have no way to push yourself away from him because the position you're in makes you sandwiched between your father's chest and damian's body. and you can't do anything about it but puff, asking your youngest if he could be so kind to at least leave you air to breath.

he'll merely comply, but then it's your legs that would be tangled against each other next, and it'd be soon you'll discover that it's meaningless trying to attempt to escape their affection.

because really, you have no way out of this, not when everyone suddenly insists that bonding time with any siblings or with bruce requires your presence above everybody else's.